


Harry Potter & The Floating City

by sgatalon, tonethstank



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, World of Warcraft
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Ron Weasley, Dalaran, Giving Timeturners to Children is dumb, Interplanetary Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgatalon/pseuds/sgatalon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonethstank/pseuds/tonethstank
Summary: An Accident after their first divination class sends ripples through the cosmos. Plans are destroyed, friendships are made, and Ron is a responsible adult!
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Croaker/Stress, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Ron Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. Prologue, or Unfogging the Future vs The Golden Trio

_**10:02 AM, September 2** **nd** **, 1993, North Tower of Hogwarts** _

“Bloody bit of insanity, that one,” Ron snarked, rolling his eyes as they exited the Divination classroom, juggling their heavy school bags as they made their way down the silk ladder. Harry glanced at Hermione, expecting her to stick up for the professor, but was mildly surprised when he saw her furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“I knew Divination was imprecise, but I think Ron’s right. There’s absolutely no evidence backing up her claims, Harry.”

“A right old fraud, she is,” Ron reaffirmed, a smirk crossing his face. Hermione almost never agreed with him, so he reveled in the feeling.

Harry reached the bottom of the ladder behind his friends and began to open his mouth to add his two cents, about how he might have seen a real Grim over the summer, and maybe Trelawney wasn’t making up his death. He had had a few close calls already, after all. Before he could get a word out, though…

“Don’t talk about the professor like that! She’s amazing!” Lavender Brown’s shrill voice rang through the hallway, Parvati Patil agreeing with her immediately. “Just because she has The Sight and you don’t, _ugh,_ the jealousy is like, _so_ obvious.”

“Oh, please.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t need the ‘sight’ to know that Harry’s got You-Know-Who’s supporters after him. She’s just making it up for drama!”

“Is not!” Lavender retorted. “She’s got a gift, and you just can’t see it!”

“If I got her ‘gift,’ I’d return it,” Ron muttered to Harry, drawing out a laugh from his friend. Lavender glared at the boys.

“Stop it!” The boys couldn’t quite stifle their giggles, making the girl stomp her foot in frustration. “You’ll see! The powers that be are going to punish you for not heeding the warnings of a True Seer!”

“Right. Well, we’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Hermione adjusted the over-full bag on her shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have _real_ classes to attend.” She turned on her heel, heading down the delicate metal staircase that led to the main castle area. Not wanting to be caught up in Lavender’s newfound passion for Divination, the boys quickly trailed her.

“Don’t worry, Lav,” Parvati said, laying a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “They’ll find out eventually that Professor Trelawney’s predictions are real.” The pair slowly made their way to the stairs, grumbling amongst themselves about the injustice of it all and how they could help the professor next class. Parvati suggested they read ahead in their textbooks, to which Lavender immediately agreed. Impatient, she dug around in her bag, eventually pulling out her copy of _Unfogging the Future._

“There must be something in here that we can use,” she said, trying to flip the book open. Unfortunately, a rickety spiral staircase was not an ideal place to read a book, especially if one was not already well-versed in reading while walking. Lavender almost immediately lost her footing, dropping her textbook in favor of clutching the thin railing.

Parvati watched as, almost in slow-motion, the Divination book tumbled into the gap in the stairs, bouncing off a wall and a railing before slamming neatly into the back of Ron’s head. Like a domino effect, Ron tumbled forward into Harry, who tumbled forward into Hermione, who missed catching the railing with her hand, causing all three to fall flatly onto the stone floor with a percussive _thud_. Some of the nearby students would later report a sound that resembled shattering glass, but most notably there was a resounding _CRACK_ that thundered through the stairway with an accompanying flash of light. Parvati leaned against the spiral railing, about to ask if everyone was okay, but the three Gryffindors had disappeared, leaving only a scarf and a few loose items alongside Lavender’s book to prove they had even been there at all.

“L-L-Lavendeeeeeeer,” Parvati wailed softly, thumping her friend’s shoulder with a nervous hand as her wide eyes stared at the empty scene below them. “What did you dooooo?”

“What? What do you mean?” Lavender righted herself, tossing her thick curls out of her face.

“L-look…” Lavender followed her friend’s finger, looking down at the scene at the bottom of the stairs.

“What? What am I looking at?” she asked quickly.

“They’re GONE, Lav! You made a prediction that they would get what was coming to them and you _made them disappear!”_

The gravity of the situation suddenly hit the 13-year-old girl like a ton of bricks. She gaped at first, then started babbling. “I-I didn’t m-mean to… It was an accident! Th-they brought it on themselves! _P-PROFESSOR TRELAWNEY!”_ The poor girl called out again and again for her savior of Divination, scrabbling back up the stairs and shoving students out of her way as she reached once more for the silk ladder.

“My dear, whatever has you so dreadfully spooked? I did not predict that the Grim would come for you.” The large, bespectacled eyes peered down at Lavender from the trap door, the heady scents of musk and sage wafting down from above.

“Professor! I-I accidentally used my _gift_ against someone, and now-- now they’re gone!”

“Your gift?” Trelawney cocked her head like a confused owl. “What gift might that be, my dear?”

“I predicted they would get what was coming to them and _they did!”_ Lavender suddenly burst into tears. With her face buried in her hands, she didn’t notice Trelawney’s skeptical face or pursed lips.

“Well, my dear, show me the damage, I suppose.” Awkwardly, Trelawney clambered down the ladder, lifting and shaking out her many layers of robes and scarves as her feet touched the cold stone.

“Th-this way, p-p-professor,” Lavender hiccupped. Sullen, she led the teacher down the spiral staircase, trailed silently by Parvati as the rest of their classmates stayed frozen, quietly gossiping about what had happened. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stair. Trelawney toed the broken glass of an inkpot to the side, even more baffled than before.

“Miss… er, Brown, was it? Miss Brown, I fail to see how a bit of broken glass warrants my attention.”

“B-but, professor!” Lavender wasn’t quite sure how to admit what she had done and froze up.

“Professor, Lavender made them disappear! Harry and Ron and Hermione! They fell down the stairs and now they’re _gone!”_

“Oh, well, now that’s just ridiculous,” Trelawney sniffed, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Students don’t simply just… Ah. Wait a moment. Did you say… Miss Granger?”

Both girls nodded vigorously.

“Oh. Oh, my. Well, my dears, I’m afraid that changes the situation quite a bit.” The misty quality to the woman’s voice had disappeared, and she quickly and skillfully drew a wand out from the depths of her scarves. A quick swish and flick beckoned forth a blinding silver light which quickly coalesced into a tiny spectral dragonfly, its wings leaving behind silver trails as it flitted back and forth beside its master. “Headmaster, we have an Unspeakable situation on our hands,” she told the creation, and off it flew through the wall to deliver its message.

“STUDENTS! MY DEARS!” Trelawney’s voice, even as loud as it would go, was quite thin and wavering but was still enough to ring through the hall and quell the students for a time. “Please return to the classroom! There has been a dreadful accident, but there is no need to panic! Return in an orderly fashion, if you please!”

Naturally, the entire class fell into an uproar, running back up the stairs, the professor’s cries for order drowned out by stomping feet and Seamus Finnegan’s shouts of, “Didja see that flash of light? Reckon they blew up, they did!”

_**11:14 AM, September 2** **nd** **, 1993, North Tower of Hogwarts** _

A tired-looking man surveyed the hall as his subordinates quietly took recordings from various magical instruments and laid out charms that would aid in the collection of data. His cloak was dark and ragged, matching the circles beneath his bloodshot hazel eyes. Almost anyone could tell he was overworked, traveling constantly for work that could not be handled by anyone else. Even his most trusted subordinates were good for little else than looking fresher than him and dealing with the general public.

Ranking Unspeakable Algernon Croaker rubbed his face; this was a right old mess. A Time-Turner was a delicate magical instrument used primarily for reversing only the most dire of circumstances, and what had they done? Given one to some teenage girl because the school couldn’t accommodate all her electives on a single schedule. He never would have given a Time-Turner of all things to an underage witch over something that could have been fixed by simply rearranging the classes. But did they ask Croaker about such matters? No, of course not. His only job was to fix things after some other dunderhead had already screwed up. Croaker was starting to feel the beginnings of a headache when he finally noticed that his younger, less sleep-deprived companion was saying something. He heard his name repeated and lifted his eyes to the gentleman before him.

“Croaker?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Well, it’s not as if we can keep this secret… There are too many witnesses, and the families, besides. You go deal with the _Prophet_ , I’ll handle things here.” The other man nodded and ran off to do as he was bid. Croaker let out a tired sigh and faced the headmaster, slowly making his way over as he planned his words. Much to his dismay, the Assistant Headmistress and the father of one of the victims moved to stand beside the wisened professor. He sighed as he stopped before them.

“Well?” McGonagall was as snappy as ever, demanding promptness.

“My son? My son will be returned, won’t he?” Arthur Weasley was almost as overworked as Algernon; he felt for the man, supporting such a large family while being one of two people in his department.

“Now, now.” Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing the two beside him. “I am sure Mr. Croaker has much to speak about. It is a complex matter, after all.” Croaker kept his gaze off to the side; as calm as Dumbledore was, he had his doubts about the man’s ability to hold his composure upon the delivery of less than ideal news. “Mr. Croaker, if you would be so kind..?”

“Of course, Professor Dumbledore.” The man took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for what was sure to be an awful conversation. “Based on the readings that have been taken and the security reports you have kindly given us about the castle wards, we can conclude that no form of apparition or other magical travel has occurred. However, there are traces of time magic and a forced stasis point at the site of the incident. The only conclusion we can draw is that the cause of today’s incident was a fractured Time-Turner, and the three victims involved are stuck in a magical time loop. They will be returned to this spot in exactly 364 days, 23 hours, and 43 minutes.” The silence hung over them like a black cloud about to unleash its downpour. McGonagall covered her gasp with her hand; Mr. Weasley clutched his chest and reeled backward, bracing himself against the wall. “Of course, we would like to be mistaken… We’re running our tests in triplicate, but frankly, since the Time-Turner was involved we can’t expect anything else.”

“I see.” Dumbledore sounded calm but sullen. His normally prim posture had deteriorated, his chest sinking down and his shoulders drooping as his eyes fell to the floor. “And there is… nothing that can be done, is there?”

“No, sir,” Croaker replied. “The only thing we can do is wait. When the Time-Turner breaks, it creates a crack in time, drawing those nearby in like a portkey. Unfortunately, trying to reach into that crack is extremely dangerous; time is already an unstable magic as it is, and it’s too delicate to risk breaking. They will return, though.”

“But why in a _year?”_ McGonagall asked, still skeptical and panicked. “The device turns back an hour at a time, no?”

Croaker sighed. He always hated having to explain things no one else understood. “Time-Turners are very delicate. Extremely so. Breaking the device releases all the magic stored in the sands at once, and in the opposite direction. Miss Granger was to use hers at minimum through the entire school year and was provided more than enough magic to last until her O.W.L. year. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“Oh… Oh, Albus…” McGonagall turned to the headmaster, looking lost.

“Molly… What will I tell Molly..?” Arthur murmured, burying his hands in what little of his hair was left. “My son… our son…”

Dumbledore remained silent, his eyes watching the floor but seeing something far off. After a spell, he opened his mouth. “Minerva… Arthur… Please, I ask that you hold yourselves together just a bit longer. Please. I will make arrangements to contact the Grangers and the Dursleys. Once that is done, I will come with you to break the news to Molly. It is only right.”

Arthur began turning tomato red as Dumbledore implored him to stay calm. He held his tongue against his initial anger and waited for Dumbledore to finish. He considered the position they were all in, and combined with the fact that there was nothing he could do to bring Ron back, he let out the breath he had been holding and nodded his head in agreement. “Alright, Dumbledore… Alright. I’ll hold you to your word.” With that, Mr. Weasley stalked off, one hand still pushing at his wispy strands of red hair as the color slowly faded from his face and head.

“Professor… Oh, Albus, what will this mean for the _school?_ ” McGonagall implored.

“We can’t know, Minerva. For now, we can only trust in the readings that Mr. Croaker has so kindly given us and pray that the families see the light at the end of the tunnel. The three of them will return. They _must_ return.”

McGonagall nodded silently, a small voice in the back of her mind wondering if Dumbledore was trying to convince the group… or himself.

Croaker cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, we’re about finished up here… Despite the time anomaly, this corridor can be used as normal, but I would advise leaving it empty on the return of the three victims. Anyone nearby may get caught in a magical backlash… Anyway, the Department of Mysteries will be here to make sure the return goes smoothly. If there is nothing else..?”

“No, Mr. Croaker. Thank you again for your speedy assistance in this matter. Come, Minerva, let us inform the rest of the staff what has transpired…” Dumbledore linked his hands behind his back, shuffling away with McGonagall following behind.

“All right, boys,” Croaker announced tiredly. “Finish up and pack it on out of here. We’ve got a lot of paperwork to file…” He sighed heavily, shoving his hands down into his pockets as his people called out orders, tidied the hall up a bit, and most importantly, left a magical marker over the place where time had fractured. In a year’s time, the marker would glow when it neared time for the return, making it easier to clear space for the victims to fall back out of time. Until then, the mark would lie dormant, almost as if nothing had happened at all.

  
  


**_12:24 PM Sept 2nd, 1993, Department of Mysteries_ **

Croaker stepped off the magical elevator, his crisp footsteps echoing through his department. He quickly made his way to the Room of Time, an entire space dedicated to the cultivation and protection of Time-Turners. Not slowing down, he walked straight at a shelf laden with the devices. Effortlessly, he passed through, ending up in a small, dark space. Not for the first time, he frowned. The ministry had all kinds of funds to create secret passages, complex spells to keep unwanted wanderers from finding the ministry’s secrets by accident, but when it came to the offices of some of its most irreplaceable employees, they had clearly cut more than one corner. Algernon sighed and tossed the thick file from today’s incident down on his desk before hanging his hat and ratty cloak on the nearby coat rack. He wasn’t looking forward to the next step.

Slowly, he made his way to a painting. It was a large piece that went from floor to ceiling, a heavy gold frame around the edge. A gentle wind blew through the painting, kicking up sand that mingled with the magical purple hue in the air. Floating rocks at varying distances showed small villages, forests, or snow-capped peaks, but all had a strange sense of stillness, not disturbed by the sand flying around the scene. Algernon had never liked this painting, had always been unsettled by it, even before he knew the secrets that it held. He drew his wand, tapping an empty archway in the painting. The archway glowed, and the framed canvas groaned as it moved aside, revealing a narrow corridor. At the end, a glow similar to the one in the painting sparked up and grew until a green-blue glowing spiral beckoned him forth. Slowly, with another resigned sigh, Algernon made his way through.

Once his vision had cleared from going through the portal, he found himself in a location that looked strikingly similar to the one in the painting. He paid it little mind, however, and trudged his way through the sand to a familiar figure sitting on a nearby stone.

“Teralnos, we’ve had another incident.”

Teralnos appeared to be a young man with black hair and golden glowing eyes, although his ears were rather long and pointed. A small goatee adorned his chin, and he wore robes of fine gold and white silk. He had his nose in a book as Croaker approached, and rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh as he put his reading to the side. “What’s happened _this time?”_ he asked drily.

“The usual. A Time-Turner given to someone not properly vetted and broken carelessly. I’m sorry to bother you about it, but you know how folks feel about things lost in time.” Algernon’s voice sounded heavier and more tired than when he had been at Hogwarts; Teralnos had been dealing with these kinds of incidents far longer than Algernon and made it no secret that he was even more fed up with the blatant disregard of respect than Algernon himself.

“Of course. When will your kind learn to be _careful_ with time?” He stood up and approached Algernon. “So? Who is it we will have to return?”

“Their names are Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley. I did a bit of digging, and one seems to be tied to a prophecy over on Earth. Not sure if that helps you get anyone back faster, but…” he trailed off, seeing the furrow in Teralnos’ brow.

“Those names sound familiar…” he mused, stroking his chin. “Now, where have I--? Oh. Oh, no…”

“What?” Croaker suddenly felt a flutter of panic in his chest. The procedure had always been tedious and repetitive, but he had never heard the words “oh no” come out of Teralnos’ mouth in that exact order before. That can’t have been a good sign.

“I’m afraid those three have already been picked up by The Meddler.”

“Er… Sorry, did you say _The Meddler?”_

“Yes.”

They were both silent, Teralnos looking thoroughly annoyed and Croaker trying to make sense of the information he had been told. “So… They _will_ be returned, won’t they?”

“Well… If I have anything to say about it, anyway. That one has a tendency to float in multiple timelines at once while trying to manipulate events, so she can be… difficult to track, at times. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Teralnos grew in size, his face elongating into a reptilian snout with long fangs, his shoulders stretching until bat-like wings had formed on his back. His fine clothes melted into gleaming bronze scales across his whole body, and he shook himself all over once the transformation was complete as if stretching stiff muscles. Croaker, who just barely came up to the dragon’s shoulder now, took a few steps back as Teralnos began to beat his wings, lift off, and suddenly fade into the Caverns.

Croaker stood awkwardly, coughing into his fist as he kicked up a bit of sand. The bronze dragons were a strange lot, nothing like the beast-like dragons that roamed Earth. Despite having worked with Teralnos for years now, he wasn’t certain he would ever get used to them.

“Oh, hi!” A high-pitched voice sounded above Croaker and a small form tumbled out of the sky, landing gracefully in the sand. “It’s good to see you!” A very human-like goblin stood before him, a goofy grin on her face, her silver hair pulled back into two elaborate buns. Algernon only felt confusion, as if he should know what was going on, or at least who he was speaking to. “Do we know each other? Sorry… Oh, I always forget these things.”

Behind her, Teralnos descended and took a swipe at the small creature with his tail. “I have not the time nor the care for you to try to figure it out, Chronormu. Help this Earth-human sort out his time business so we can both return to our regular duties.”

“Oh, a twist in time? I might be able to help with that!” The small creature jumped up, her face still the picture of absolute delight. Teralnos could be seen rolling his eyes as he melded back into his humanoid form, reaching for the book he had left behind earlier.

“Er… right. I’ve got three humans that were lost as a result of a broken Time-Turner. Teralnos said you had already found them?”

“Three humans, eh? Not that I remember, but it probably hasn’t happened for me yet! Tell you what, why don’t you write down a nice description for me, and I’ll head back to my mission. When I see them, I’ll be sure to send them back your way!”

“Well…” Croaker was not reassured by the way Chronormu phrased her suggestion, but what choice did he really have? He glanced at the more familiar dragon, who was contentedly ignoring the situation unfolding around them. Algernon heaved a sigh. “I suppose that’ll have to do, then.”

“Excellent! Now, who might the lost ones be?”

Croaker gave names, descriptions, and even managed to magick out a few sketches of each. Chronormu nodded importantly and gave him a weird little salute before disappearing into the Cavern, leaving Algernon bewildered where he stood.

“Er… so they’ll be back, then?”

“Probably,” drawled Trerlanos. “If your business is finished, then..?”

“...Right. I’ll be going.” Algernon tipped his hat, which went unnoticed by the dragon, and stepped back through the portal, making his way back to his office, feeling thoroughly drained. He approached his desk and reached for the folder he had left there earlier, intending to finish up the necessary paperwork.

“Ah, here you are!”

“WHA--” the man jumped, the papers from the file scattering about the office as they flew from his hand. The small goblin-like girl was standing on top of his desk. When she had arrived, he had no idea.

“Ooh, sorry about that. But it was an urgent matter! I just wanted to let you know that I dropped the missing humans off at… Where was it? Hogwarts? Strange name for a school, if you ask me.”

 _I… I didn’t ask you,_ Algernon thought to himself. He tried to shake himself out of it. “What do you mean you ‘dropped them off?’ They aren’t supposed to return for another year!”

“They’re supposed to return on September 2nd of 1994, aren’t they?” The creature cocked her head at him.

“Yes…” he replied warily.

“That’s today!”

“It’s 1993.”

“Oops. Well, I dropped them off in the right year. I promise!”

Croaker had serious doubts about this. “How did you even get into my office, anyway? I thought you were contained by the Caverns of Time?”

“Well, not exactly. You see, the Bronze Dragonflight uses time currents to navigate the various eras and locations of major events and anomalies, and-- Oh, you don’t get it… Well, just suffice it to say that time and space are all the same to me!”

“Right…” Algernon eyed the little dragon, trying to gauge her sanity.

“I can see that you’re skeptical. But don’t worry! I dropped off everyone that needed to be there! 4 Adults and a Gryphon, safe and sound!”

“Adults? The children were 13. And there were only three of them!”

“Oops. Spoilers! I’d better get going, see you in a year!” She jumped from the desk and faded into the background, the distinct ticking of a clock accompanying her departure. The only proof she had even been there at all was the papers still scattered around the office from when she had startled Algernon.

The man stood alone, staring at the empty air where the dragon had been for far longer than he would have liked to admit. Finally, he took a deep breath and sat at his desk. Shakily, he reached down and opened the bottom right drawer. Inside was a single glass tumbler and a mostly-full bottle of amber liquid. He pulled both out with trembling fingers and somehow managed to uncork the bottle, the pungent scent of whisky permeating the room as he slowly poured himself a full glass. He closed his eyes, lifting the drink to his lips and swallowing it all in just a few gulps. Quickly, he poured a second helping, taking just a sip as he contemplated his choices.

Should he inform the higher-ups about the situation? Most definitely. Would it cost him his job? Almost definitely. He weighed his options. Nothing seemed terribly good. Frankly, he was about fed up fixing the mistakes of time magic and getting on in years. He was far too old to deal with things like Chronormu, anyway. He downed more of his drink. Maybe he should try to think more optimistically. The dragon had seemed more than a little unhinged… Perhaps there was a chance she was mistaken? Perhaps the three children would be returned as normal, with no one to the wiser as to how wrong it could have gone? Yes… Yes, this seemed a good conclusion to draw. Time was set in stone, after all. Things happened for a reason. Everything would be fine!

...Probably.

As if trying to drown out the nagging voice inside his head, Croaker gulped down the rest of his whisky, stood, and set about organizing the paperwork. It would need to be tidy come this time next year.


	2. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Trio's lives are upended again, bringing them home from Azeroth.

**Chapter 2: Home**

**_9:06 AM, September 2_ ** **_nd_ ** **_, Year 28, 76 Parkview Way, Apt 2, Stormwind Park District_ **

Ron Weasley mused over his breakfast of freshly baked bread, a shiny red apple, and ice cold milk. It was hard to believe it had already been five years since the accident at Hogwarts, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t been grateful for the event. He was 18 now, a man in every sense of the word, although his wiry-muscled limbs were still a bit lanky. He had let his red hair grow out, cascading in waves around his freckled face and covering the back of his neck, and rather than the lumpy Weasley hand-me-downs he had known as a child, he had his very own set of mage’s robes that were finely crafted in Alliance blue and gold. An insignia stitched on his shoulder marked him as a warmage of the 7th legion, an impressive feat for a young man.

He admired the view from his 2nd floor kitchen window; from here, he could see the Moonwell the Night Elves had set up in the center of the park as well as the various people milling about, participating in leisures such as picking flowers, holding hands, and making light conversation. He could swear someone had even set up a picnic basket on the soft grass. From the next room over, Ron could hear the humming of a familiar hymn and smiled to himself. He quickly cut a few slices of aged cheddar from the hunk of cheese on the table, laying a slice on his bread and setting the rest on the plate across from his.

“Oi, Betty! Come get some breakfast,” he called, the smile audible in his voice.

“ _ Ronald. _ ” The responding voice sounded exasperated and a little bit amused. A heavily pregnant woman turned into the room, leaning in the doorframe with her arms crossed above her belly. A silver band could be seen on her left ring finger, glinting in the morning sun.

“ _ Betty. _ ” Ron gestured towards the overly-full plate of food waiting for her.

She rolled her eyes, which were notably two different colors, one light hazel and the other sea green. “Only because you’re cute,” she chided, playfully swatting his shoulder with one hand as she made her way to her seat. She tucked her long, wavy golden hair behind one ear and spread her napkin over her stomach. “Where’s the bread from, dear?”

“Made it,” Ron replied hastily, thumping his chest. “I think I finally found a trick to conjuring food!” he bragged.

“Hmm…” Bethany eyed him warily and tore off a piece of bread, popping it in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s good, right? Nice and moist, lots of flavor… Try it with some cheese, it’s really--”

“It’s from The Gilded Rose, isn’t it?”

“--tasty…” Ron cut off, clearing his throat. “Er… yeah. How’d you know?”

Bethany laughed, her light freckles disappearing in a rosy tinge of color that covered the apples of her cheeks. “Ron Weasley, the only good food that you ‘conjure’ is the kind you conjure from the Trade District,” she teased.

Ron sulked, taking a loud bite out of his apple as he grumbled. She was right, of course, but it would have been nice to have been praised for fetching breakfast!

They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence; Ron had always enjoyed food, and Bethany knew he would talk through his mouthfuls if given an opportunity. She was happy to keep the conversation down, though; as it turned out, growing a human was hungry work, and she preferred to eat as much as she could as quickly as she could.

After having gone back for seconds (and maybe thirds), Bethany pushed aside her now empty plate and finished off the last of her milk. She let out a satisfied sigh, only to catch Ron watching her, a dreamy look in his blue eyes as he propped his chin on one hand. “What?” Bethany asked snappishly.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how nice this all is. You and me with our nice quiet house, enjoying breakfast together... It’s hard to believe we’ll have a baby in just a couple months.”

“That’s true…” Bethany smoothed a hand over her baby bump, putting her napkin back on the table in a heap. “You know, when I first met you, I wouldn’t really have pegged you as father material.”

“Excuse me! I come from a huge family, I know how to raise children, thank you very much!”

“We’ll see,” the woman chuckled, standing to clear their dishes to the sink. Neither spouse was terribly domestic, so the washing would come at a later time. “So! What do you have planned for today?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m meeting with Jagellion. He said he’s returning from his trip to the mines today, so we should have a nice shipment of gems to work on.”

“I see. Sounds like a late night, then?”

“Probably,” Ron grumbled.

“That’s alright. I’ll just stay a bit extra with Hermione, then.”

“Oh, that’s right… I forgot you were going to spend the day with her.” Ron kicked himself; he had been planning on going, too, until he had gotten Jagellion’s message about his big haul. He looked Bethany over; she was wearing a nicer dress than usual today and her makeup was done, not that she needed it. “Are you ready to go? Let me make you a portal.”

“I don’t mind walking to the mage’s tower--”

“No wife of mine is walking all the way to the mage’s tower! You shouldn’t be walking around too much in your condition, and I know Harry and Hermione always drag you around Dalaran as it is. I’ll make you a portal.”

“Well, if you insist… Let me get my bag.” With a grateful smile, she went into the other room, taking just a moment to grab her things. Luckily, she was quite organized. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner. I promise.” In the back of his mind, Ron vowed to make Jagellion do any unfinished work so he could make good on that promise. He reached for Bethany, wrapping his arms around her as they shared a goodbye kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now let’s get going, you’re more likely to be late than I am,” Bethany teased with a grin.

“All right, all right.” Ron rolled his eyes as he pulled out a blue-purple stone with a glowing design etched into it. “Oh, by the way, don’t forget to get some of Harry’s cure-all potion for your morning sickness. And that vitality potion, you need the nutrients. Oh, and I could really use some of that special flux he makes--”

“Shh. I have a shopping list.” Bethany pulled a crumpled note from her bag; Ron recognized his own scrawled handwriting on it and nodded.

“Great, thank you! Now, stand back.” Ron cleared his throat dramatically, making Bethany roll her eyes once more as she gave him space. He held the portal stone in front of him, waving his glowing free hand over it and making the rune glow brighter as he uttered the words that would open a passageway to the floating city. After long moments and a final push of magic, a glowing circle appeared between the couple, a city of tall-spired buildings topped with purple roofs and surrounded by carefully cultivated greenery shimmering in the magic. Ron pocketed the rune as the glow faded for use later.

“Have a safe trip!” Ron blew his wife a kiss, just barely visible through the magic. She blew one back, making Ron smile giddily just before she disappeared through the portal. He waited a moment, long enough to where he was sure Bethany would have gotten through safely, and reached and pulled at the portal with one hand, breaking the spell and leaving their kitchen mundane once again.

Ron sighed to himself. The small apartment felt cold without Bethany, but he knew Hermione needed the company more than he did right now. The thought struck him once more:  _ Five years. _ Five years they had been on Azeroth. So much had happened-- new magics to learn, battles to fight, learning how to live in a new world… Not only that, but it also meant that five years had passed since they had been separated from their families.  _ I hope Mum and Dad are safe, _ he thought sadly. His gut twisted; he had so many mixed feelings about his family now. Some days, he missed everyone terribly, even Percy, but most of the time he was content with his new life. His mother’s expectations and the constant looming shadows his older brothers had left him to follow in were a burden he was glad to be free of.  _ I never had very good prospects back in wizarding Britain and Mum and Dad knew it, _ he thought to himself, not for the first time.  _ After five years, I’m sure they’ve moved on...  _ He snorted out a laugh.  _ Actually, fat chance of that. Mum was still complaining about Uncle Fabian, last I remember. _

Ron shook his head and stepped into the living space, reaching for his backpack that was hung beside the door. He slipped it on and quickly checked for the four pouches strapped at his waist, bags Bethany had made from the chilly, shimmery silk known as Frostweave, and that Hermione enchanted to hold contents beyond what should have fit in the pouches. He heard the chime of Stormwind’s tower clock and cursed softly; he was supposed to be at the shop with Jagellion by now! No matter, Jagellion was late for things all the time. Ron could brush this one time off, even if he  _ was _ supposed to be the more responsible of the two.

He slipped outside and locked the door of the apartment behind him, hurrying down the stairs and taking the scenic sidewalk of the Park at a sprint. He gave a curt wave to a few Night Elves that greeted him on his way, but couldn’t be spared the time for a word. As he crossed the bridge to the Cathedral District, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the (slightly unnecessary) mandatory physical training provided by the 7th Legion. He couldn’t win an arm wrestling match against an orc, but at least he could run the streets without getting winded. Taking the outer road by the canals, Ron rounded the corner and saw the blue roofs of the Trade District. Luckily, the shop he and Jagellion had purchased was close, just past the barber shop. He didn’t have much further to go. He made his way over the last bridge and slipped through a crowd on the main road before heading through the tunnel. He made a left and ran past the swirling red and white post, fumbling the keys at his belt as he arrived at a familiar door, unlocking it and bursting through.

“I’m here! I’m here…” He took a few deep breaths, closing the door behind him.

“I see that,” Jagellion said drily, raising an eyebrow. He was a tanned, rugged man with dirty blond hair and a multitude of scars on his well-muscled arms. He still had dirt on his face and clothes, presumably from the mines he just returned from. He sat on a stool behind the glass counter that displayed their wares. “I thought I told you I brought some good shit?”

“Right-- I know. I just--”

“Look, if you’re gonna get distracted by your wife, just bring her to work. Like I do.”

_ “I heard that! And you  _ put _ me to work, not  _ bring _ me to work!” _ a feminine voice shouted from the back room.

“Women,” Jagellion said with a grin, rolling his eyes as he rested his chin on his hand.

Ron began walking toward the counter, smiling. He was familiar with Jagellion and Rhyan’s antics. They had been married for years and been through loads more wars than Ron and Bethany had. “Betty had an errand to run, so I wanted to make sure she got there…” Ron trailed off, seeing a glittery golden kind of veil forming like a halo around his body. He reached forward, trying to figure out what it was, and noticed his hand was more than a little transparent. “Uhhh…”

Jagellion straightened, eyeing Ron with amusement. “What, are 7th Legion robes not  _ fabulous _ enough for you, Mr. Warmage?”

“It’s not me! It’s… I dunno!” Ron’s brow furrowed as he reached into his pocket for the portal stone again, trying to figure something out, when the ticking of clocks sounded like a cacaughany in his ears. “Oh, fu--”

The warrior blinked as his friend suddenly disappeared. He looked on thoughtfully, wondering if he had somehow offended Ron? Mages were touchy creatures, after all. In the end, he shrugged. He was sure he would come back soon. “Oi, Rhyan! Ron disappeared! Guess you can take your time sifting those gems!”

_ “What?! Why that--”  _ Jagellion yawned as his wife let loose a string of expletives. It was too early for this shit.

  
  


**_9:34 AM, September 2_ ** **_nd_ ** **_, Year 28, Apartment 208, The Eventide, Dalaran_ **

Not for the first time, Hermione awoke from a dream of home. The scent of fresh-cut grass and her father’s cologne; her mother’s laugh and the familiar morning sun pouring through her bedroom window; the weight of her favorite book in her hand. She peeked an eye open, seeing only the ornate ceiling and silken drapes over the bed she shared with Harry, and felt an immediate pang of disappointment following the pleasant nostalgia of her dream. Closing her eyes to the harsh reality, she rolled onto her side and reached for the other side of the bed, feeling…

Nothing.

With a frown, Hermione sat up, her frizzy brown curls falling over her face and sticking up at strange angles. The sheets were mussed from her unrestful sleep, but Harry’s pillows were notably untouched. He had only been coming briefly a few times a week, spending most of his time campaigning around with the Argent Crusade. With a huff, Hermione threw herself back into bed, yanking the covers over her head with full intentions to just go back to sleep. If Harry wasn’t back yet to comfort his newlywed wife, then at least she still had her dreams to turn to!

A few minutes passed, the only sound in the room Hermione tossing among the rumpled sheets. More minutes passed, and more thrashing about. Finally, with a soft curse, Hermione threw the blankets off entirely, her naked body fully exposed to the wintery air, which she regretted rather quickly. Huffing again, she threw herself from bed and hastily ducked into the en suite bathroom. She relieved herself and reached for a thin nightgown that had been laid out at some point, quickly pulling it on and tying a fine silk robe around her waist. Lastly, she grabbed her brush and ran it through her hair until her curls were (somewhat) tamed and lay away from her face.

_ Well, _ she thought defiantly as she jammed her feet into her slippers, _ if I can’t have Harry, and I can’t fall back asleep to dream, then at least there should be something in the study to read. _ She exited the bedroom, walking through the hallway. One side was open, allowing one to gaze down on the lavish seating area on the floor below, but this was not what Hermione was interested in. She went through the only other door in the hall, which was strangely open; she was certain she had locked up last night. Stepping through cautiously, she briefly took in the numerous floor-to-ceiling shelves that were completely filled with books of all genres and languages, looked past the wide bay windows with their plush seating, and eventually fell to her favorite reading nook, a fluffy pile of pillows with a tiered end table beside it.

Displayed prominently atop the table was a thick book, propped up so she could see the weathered cover easily from a distance. She gasped quietly. If she remembered her Ancient Darnassian, it was a copy of  _ The Arcanist’s Cookbook _ , a tome that was rumored to contain many arcane secrets but was practically unusable by anyone but a Night Elf. And of course, Night Elves were strictly sworn off the arcane arts, and therefore entirely unhelpful in the matter of translating. Well. Hermione was sure it was possible to do on her own, it was just a matter of research and persistence!

Reverently, she ran her fingers over the ancient tome, impressed at how it had held up through the centuries. Soon, though, the spellbook would be worn down, its secrets laid bare for her to reap. Grinning, she whirled through the study, her fingers dancing over titles, pausing at a few, and swiftly collecting the ones she needed. A common-to-Darnassian dictionary, a copy of  _ Darnassian Through the Ages, _ and a text on Kaldorei runes were among the books fetched from the shelves before she exclaimed, “This is a good start!”

She filled the lower shelves of the tiered table with the various books she had grabbed, organizing them from what she thought would be most useful to least useful. Finally, she snatched  _ The Arcanist’s Cookbook _ from the top of the table, threw herself into her pillow pile, and opened the cover…

The first thing she noticed was a bit of parchment tucked inside. It was newer, and stood out against the weathered yellow pages. She recognized Harry’s quick, scratched penmanship and lifted the note to examine it more closely.

_ Hermione-- _

_Good morning, sleepyhead! I’m sorry I couldn’t stay overnight, but I brought you a present. I hope you like it! I’m sure you missed them, but I left you a few vitality potions, too. If you forget to eat, you at least need a potion every few hours so you can stay focused!_ _  
__I’ll be home tonight, if everything goes well this afternoon. The Crusade has been packing up for a while now, but they finally gave word that there will be no more bulk work orders. Once I can dump the surplus, I’ll be free from my contract, and we can be together again. I’m sorry this last day is the anniversary, and I can’t spend it with you, but Bethany should be coming by this morning to keep you company. I also left a dozen cupcakes under stasis charms for you both to have over tea._

_All my love,_ _  
__Harry_

_ PS- There’s a box in the kitchen with some potions, pickled herring, and black jelly for Bethany and Ron. DON’T TAKE ANY MONEY FROM THEM! Call it a baby shower gift if you have to. _

“Shoot,” Hermione murmured aloud, tucking the note back into the tome. She had forgotten that Bethany was coming to visit today. With a forlorn frown, she slowly put her gift back on top of the table and extracted herself from her nook. This meant she wouldn’t be able to dive in until tomorrow. Bethany would take her time during the day, and Harry through the night…

Not that she was complaining, mind you. But Harry did have a poor sense of timing when it came to these sorts of gestures. She smiled to herself, grateful he had the time to think of her at all.

She was broken out of her musings by a magical chime that sounded through the apartment. “Oh, Bethany must be here…” Hermione said softly to herself as she exited the study and made her way down the stairs. She flung the door open wide and gave the other woman a big hug, mindful of her belly.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Bethany said with a laugh. “Should I have let you sleep longer?” she asked, taking note of Hermione’s outfit.

“Oh! Oh, no, I was up, I just, er…” she paused, unsure how to tactfully mention that she had forgotten her friend was coming to visit.

“Absorbed in a good book, huh?” Bethany teased with a mischievous smile; she knew exactly what had happened and why Hermione wasn’t dressed for company.

“Something like that. Anyway, come in, come in.” She stepped aside so the pregnant woman could enter. “Let’s go to the kitchen and grab a bite for breakfast, shall we?”

“That sounds lovely!” Bethany exclaimed, neglecting that she had already eaten quite a large breakfast. Hermione closed the door behind them and they went off to the kitchen, accessed through a narrow hall behind the sitting room. The only other rooms on this floor were a bathroom and Harry’s laboratory, which they passed by.

The kitchen was warm and cozy, although bigger than Bethany’s kitchen by far. A wooden table in the center of the room boasted a large bowl of Dalaran crisp apples, which Hermione gestured to with a hurried, “Please, help yourself,” as she reached for some honeymint tea from the larder.

“Thank you!” Bethany quickly did as she was bid, reaching for the plumpest apple she could see. “Oh, by the way, Ron asked me if I might trouble you for some potions again. I have a list! Hold on…” She held the apple in her teeth, plucking Ron’s shopping list from her pocket to give to Hermione. She crunched down, taking a bite of her apple once the parchment had been handed off.

Hermione quickly took and scanned the list, reminded of Harry’s note left in  _ The Arcanist’s Cookbook. _ “Oh, of course!” A quick scan of the countertops revealed a small box filled to bursting with flasks and vials. She checked it against Ron’s list, confirming that Harry had already packed all the items requested, and then some. She picked the box up with some difficulty and moved it to the table, beside the bowl of apples Bethany was choosing from.

“I think this should be sufficient,” Hermione said proudly.

Bethany looked at the box with wide eyes, pausing mid-bite. “Oh, Hermione… That’s so much! I don’t know that we can aff--”

“Nonsense! You and Ron are our very dearest friends, and you’ve a baby on the way! I insist. Harry and I  _ both _ insist.”

“I… Thank you.” Bethany ran her hand over the numerous potions and solutions being gifted to her, a tear in her eye. “Thank you so much, Hermione!”

“What are friends for?” Hermione asked, scooping the other woman into a hug. They stood like that for a long while, enjoying the familiar warmth that comes from a good friend’s fierce hug, eyes closed against the glittery veil of golden magic that was slowly enveloping them. Slowly, they turned transparent, and the sound of dozens of ticking clocks filled their ears, making both women look up in surprise.

“Bethany--?”

“Hermione--?”

The two disappeared, leaving the kitchen devoid of any evidence they had been there at all, save for the untouched honeymint tea on the table, and Bethany’s partially eaten apple that had dropped to the floor.

**_7:37 AM September 2_ ** **_nd_ ** **_, Year 28, The Shadow Vault_ **

Harry yawned widely, rubbing the water from his bloodshot green eyes as he fought to stay awake. With the Northrend campaign ending, the Ashen Verdict was encouraging their participants to make haste cleaning up their outposts and tidying their surplus of supplies. This meant more than a few all-nighters, including last night. He wasn’t terribly upset about the trip, though. Flying back into Dalaran to drop off a few ledgers and supplies meant that he had been able to stop briefly at home. Hermione had been sleeping, which was a slight disappointment, but one that allowed him to set up a nice surprise for her when she woke up. Not to mention the care package he had put together for Ron and his wife.

He smiled to himself and shook his head; Ron had probably written him eight times about the potions, but always saying “Not yet, not yet.” Harry wasn’t a complete dolt. Ron had a lot on his plate, having just bought a house, started a new business, and having a baby on the way. Harry was getting a nice bonus from the war being over, it was no trouble to gift some potions to a friend in need. Besides, Ron had practically crafted his and Hermione’s wedding bands for free. Really, he owed him one.

Stifling another yawn, Harry snapped out of his musings and checked the clipboard in his hand. He had already spent the morning boxing up the various augmentation potions meant for the frontlines-- things like flasks and elixirs meant to fortify combatants with deeper mana reserves or increased strength. He went through his list, double checking that his inventory was accounted for, all the items boxed and labeled correctly, although he had to pause several times and reread because his tired eyes were failing him. Eventually, he was able to confirm that he had everything on his checklist packed and labeled, marking it down and initialing beside it. He had but one task left, and it was the one he had least been looking forward to.

Harry entered a nearby tent. Inside were three full cauldrons of a steaming purple liquid that smelled like a mixture of berries, mint, and burning rubber. Fortunately, he was somewhat used to the smell of his Powerful Rejuvenation Potion, but it did do a bit to help break him out of his tired stupor. He glanced towards the corner of the tent; crates and crates of empty vials were stacked haphazardly. Harry sighed. He wished he had larger portable containers, but alas the single-dose vials were all the Crusade was willing to spare him. It would probably take all afternoon to bottle up the contents of the cauldrons…

Frowning, he checked his inventory sheets. There was no mention of the PRP anywhere, likely because the brew hadn’t finished until the early hours of the morning. Harry put his clipboard to the side and scratched the back of his head, making his coal-black hair stick up more awkwardly than usual. He  _ could _ do the proper thing and bottle up nearly 1000 individual doses of PRP for the Argent Crusade to have as a bonus… OR he could just write it off as a loss and give the product away, saving him a lot of time and effort. Normally, Harry would do the extra work… but the war  _ was _ over, and the potency of his brew made the potion time-sensitive. It wasn’t as if they could hang onto it for the next war to roll around, however far away  _ that _ might be. Plus, it wasn’t on his to-do list. That alone told him that the Crusade didn’t care about this particular batch.

Harry nodded to himself and turned to stick his head out the tent flap. He saw a nearby Knight of the Ebon Blade, a dwarf with eyes that glowed frosty blue. “Hey, mate!” he called, getting the knight’s attention. “I’ve got a boatload of Rejuvenation Potion here with no destination. Come help yourself. In fact, tell your friends. There’s probably plenty here for everyone.”

The dwarf grunted, skeptical. “If you’re sure…” He shrugged and trudged off towards a cave marked with the black and purple banner of the Ebon Blade. Harry heard the dwarf’s altered voice echo through the cavern and ducked back into his own tent. He reached into a bag on his hip, one of four Enchanted Frostweave bags that Bethany and Hermione had worked quite hard on, and dug around inside, falling up to his elbow until he felt what he was looking for. He pulled a few 20-vial cases out, fully intending to take some of the potion for himself. He made the decision not to use the Crusade’s vials… just in case.

He was almost finished bottling his second case of potion when the dwarf came into the tent accompanied by a large group of his companions, mostly death knights like himself, but Harry caught a glimpse of polished gold that could only belong to a paladin.

“All we want, right?” the dwarf asked, gesturing towards the cauldrons.

Harry nodded. “Preferably all of it. It doesn’t have anywhere to be, and I can’t be stuck babysitting it all day.”

“Understood.” The dwarf gave a jerk of his head, and the group descended on the cauldrons like flies, only the paladins among their number balking at the distinct stench of the brew. Harry was unsurprised; the Ebon Blade was known for being fierce melee combatants as well as masters of necromancy and frost magics, but few knew that most death knights also had a penchant for alchemy, creating their own foul potions that those outside the order were unable to imbibe. Despite their bad reputation, death knights were pragmatic creatures, efficient, and Harry didn’t begrudge them free resources after all they had done in the campaign against the Lich King’s scourge. In fact, he was quite respectful of the new perspective they brought to the war effort, as well as his own potion-crafting.

Once Harry had bottled his final personal case of Powerful Rejuvenation Potion, he just sat back and waited. Each knight took stacks and stacks of vials, filling as many as they could reasonably hold and draining the stock rather quickly. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  _ So much better than doing it by myself, _ he thought, stifling another yawn. After about an hour, the last few to claim their free potion trickled out. Harry checked his cauldrons; just a little bit left. He fished some more vials from his bags, thinking that he could stand to give some out the next time he was in Stormwind. Ron’s business partners, Rhyan and her husband Jagellion, came to mind. They were reckless adventurers that enjoyed fighting, so they could probably get some mileage out of the potions before they expired.

Once the cauldrons were completely drained, Harry pulled his faithful old wand out of his sleeve and used a simple Shrinking Charm to make them small enough to fit into the openings of his Enchanted Frostweave Bags. This done, he began tidying the tent. He moved the cauldron stands to the corner, out of the way, and sorted the crates of vials into stacks of empty crates and filled ones, making sure the full crates were stacked neatly so the fragile glass containers remained intact. Lastly, he took a broom to the ground. There was not much he could do with frosty tundra, but the knights had tracked in a fair amount of twigs-- or maybe it was bits of bone? He didn’t care to make the distinction.

It was about time to head out. He had completed all his cleanup tasks, so the only thing left to do was make his delivery and finish up his paperwork in Dalaran before he could, finally, go home to his wife. He walked outside to the nearby stables, unhitching his snowy gryphon, Jadwiga. He gently patted her bluish beak; he had become quite fond of his mount, in no small part because of her resemblance to his owl, Hedwig.

“Don’t worry, girl,” Harry murmured, catching her silvery-gray eye. “Just one more flight and we’ll be home for a while.” The intelligent creature huffed at him, lightly butting against his hand and scratching her claws into the frozen ground as if to tell him to get on with it, then. He laughed and pulled her favorite snack, an oily blackmouth fish, from his bags, tossing it into her eager beak. Properly treated, she patiently waited for him to attach her saddle, armor, and elaborate travel bags, only ruffling her feathers slightly on the realization that she would be flying under a heavy load.

Once she was properly outfitted, Harry lead Jadwiga back to the first tent he had done the inventory for that morning. It was a quick job to load everything into the saddle bags, although he did admit that his back felt somewhat sore for the effort. He stretched himself and patted the gryphon’s shoulder. “Alright, Jadwiga. Ready to go?”

She made a noise between a honk and a bark at him, clearly growing impatient with his human antics. Harry grinned and threw himself into the saddle, the prospect of flying enough to shed some of the exhaustion that had been weighing him down. “All right. Here we go, then.”

No sooner had the young man picked up the reins than a strange glimmering veil surrounded him and his mount. Jadwiga’s feathers fluffed out, but she was used to her master’s magic doing strange things. Harry, on the other hand, had no clue what was happening, and panicked when he found himself able to see through the back of his gryphon’s head. He looked around, desperate to find the source, but saw no one, not even a single member of the Ebon Blade. His heart pounded in his throat, fearing the worst as his ears filled with the sound of ticking clocks, Jadwiga finally reacting to the strangeness and rearing as the two vanished, taking the entire stock of augmentation potions with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, the reasoning behind the Golden Trio being there for Five, as opposed to a single year will be explained in the future. Its related to Chromie being everyones favorite Bronze Dragon, and doing her thing. The Next Chapter will probably be out next week.


	3. Reunions

***

_Sirius wasn’t sure of the date. School had definitely been in session for a few months, though. He had survived so far by mostly attaching himself to muggle families-- after all, Sirius had been told he had a very sweet disposition as a dog. The dementors mostly stayed out of muggle-inhabited areas, luckily, so by playing the good and faithful pooch, he’d earn plenty of scraps to eat and sometimes a warm place to sleep. Hogsmeade was a bit harder to navigate, when he arrived. Wizarding folk tended to be a bit more suspicious, and he couldn’t play the friendly stray forever, especially with the dementors’ regular patrols._

_That was when he met Crookshanks, a curiously clever orange cat. Sirius assumed it must belong to one of the students, but was happy to take the pet’s aid in escorting him around dementor patrols so he could steal away to the Forest to hunt, or sometimes through the Whomping Willow’s secret passage to the Shrieking Shack. Despite the safety offered by his new friend, Sirius was hungry for something else. Revenge. He knew he was here, in the school, with that Weasley boy. If he could just get close enough to the Weasley boy, he could snap that traitor Pettigrew’s neck before gladly continuing his punishment for the crime he had yet to commit._

_It must have been some sort of coincidence, but the day he felt it was safe enough to venture into the castle happened to be a Quidditch day. He knew he should slip into the castle so he could snoop around and see if he could find the rat. He knew. But… his curiosity got the better of him. Sirius knew that Harry was a Seeker, and likely a talented one if the rumors were to be believed. He wanted to see his godson. The glimpse he had gotten of him in Little Whinging was fleeting, at best, and unsatisfactory. He should have had the opportunity to raise Harry, just as James and Lily should have had…_

_Sirius stomped on the anger that flared in his chest. Stubbornly, the animagus loped off to the Quidditch pitch, hoping to calm down after watching the game for a bit. He found a good hiding place with a nice view, practically underneath the banners that draped from the high-rise seating. He settled into the grass, wet from the day’s rain, and scanned the game. Harry was the spitting image of his father, and even after so long, Sirius knew he could spot him from a mile away. He searched, and searched… and couldn’t see him. He lifted a shaggy ear, confirming that he had definitely heard the young man commenting on the game say that Gryffindor was playing. So… where was Harry?_

_“NO NO NO, SLYTHERIN’S SEEKER IS GOING FOR A DIVE-- IF ONLY POTTER WERE-- OUCH!”_

_“MR. JORDAN!”_

_“Oof… Sorry, Professor!”_

_Sirius put his nose to the ground, thinking, as the crowd came to a roar peppered with cheers and boos as the Slytherin Seeker captured the Snitch. He had a bad feeling, and not just because his house lost the game. Clearly Harry hadn’t been relieved of his position as Seeker, so what was keeping him from the game? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. Quickly, Sirius picked himself up and hurried across the school grounds. If he was to sneak into Hogwarts, it had to be now. It was the only way to speak with the person he needed._

_Somehow, he managed to stay out of sight until classes ended and everyone was in the Great Hall eating. He followed a nostalgic scent up the castle stairs, desperately and quickly tracking it to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He pushed the door open and slid inside, then threw his hip into the door to close it behind him, and made his way to the teacher’s office. It was empty, unfortunately, so he curled himself into a shadowed corner, waiting._

_Finally, in the early hours of the morning before breakfast, Sirius heard footsteps. Blinking away the night’s broken sleep, he sat up, perfectly quiet and still, and watched as someone entered the office. The scent was familiar to him, if not the hunched posture and graying hair. Remus plopped a weathered briefcase on the desk and shuffled a few papers around, picking and choosing what to take. Behind him, Sirius shifted from his animagus form, melting out of the shadows._

_“Hello, old friend,” he rasped, a shadow of a smile stretching across his yellowed teeth._

_Remus spun, wand out and eyes wide, taking in the shadow of a man before him. “...Sirius,” he finally uttered, lowering his wand. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Not important,” Sirius rasped. “Where is my godson?” he demanded._

_Lupin paled. “It’s… a long story.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, not meeting Sirius’ gaze. “I think it best if we wait--”_

_“NO!” Even Sirius was surprised at the volume of his bark. “I’ve done enough waiting… Twelve years, Remus._ Twelve. Years.” _He took a deep, stuttering breath. “No more waiting.”_

_Slowly, the professor nodded. “Yes… Yes. I suppose that makes sense. Have a seat, Sirius. I-- I need to do something.” He began making his way out when a wave of panic struck Sirius, and he reached for his threadbare tweed sleeve._

_“Remus... Moony. You’re not thinking of turning me in, are you?”_

_“What?” Remus looked confused. He searched Sirius’ face and seemed to realize something. “The Prophet never released a story, did they?”_

_“What the bloody hell are you talking about? What story?”_

_“Sirius, you… you’ve been exonerated. Haven’t you noticed that the dementors disappeared from school grounds?”_

_Sirius stared at Lupin dumbly. Nothing the man said made any modicum of sense, but he knew his friend. He wasn’t lying…_

_“Why don’t we see Dumbledore? I’m sure he can explain much better than I can…” Lupin looked apologetic as Sirius’ expression twisted once more. “Don’t worry, I swear on my status as a Marauder that you won’t be captured.”_

_Sirius barked out a dry laugh. “Isn’t that the worst thing to swear by?”_

_Lupin shrugged. “On my status as a werewolf, then.”_

_“Fine, fine,” the ex-convict growled. “But just in case…” He shifted back into his dog form, shaking his matted fur out and giving Remus a friendly_ boof. _Lupin rolled his eyes and led the way to Dumbledore’s office._

_It was the start to the most bizarre day of Sirius’ life._

_Following a rather tense meeting with the Headmaster explaining Harry’s fate and reiterating that Sirius would not be going back to Azkaban, Sirius was allowed to clean up in the prefect’s bathroom (a privilege that had been denied to him while he was in school) before being escorted to the Ministry by Dumbledore himself. An immediate meeting was called with himself, Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, and Cornelius Fudge. Fudge was in his usual lime-green suit, fidgeting with his bowler hat in his hands. Sirius had bluntly asked what all this was about, and he would never forget Fudge’s answer._

_“Erm… terribly sorry, Lord Black,” he had mumbled. “New, recent evidence has led us to conclude your, erm... innocence, and subsequent acquittal.”_

_Sirius had laughed like the madman they had assumed he was for so many years. “Didn’t I tell you that already, you pompous git? So, what happened? Finally unseal the Potter will?”_

_As it turned out, the Potter will was still sealed. But, the Ministry couldn’t keep Sirius imprisoned for murder when his supposed victim was found alive. A certain map had alerted a pair of students to the presence of an extra person in their brother’s dorm. That extra person was none other than Peter Pettigrew. The students were advanced enough to be able to reverse an animagus transformation, and quick enough to stun the man when he attempted to escape. Of course, they had been rewarded for their efforts, according to Ms. Bones, but Sirius insisted that he wanted to compensate whomever had captured Pettigrew for him. He figured it must be one of the Weasleys, since he had seen Pettigrew with the family in the Daily Prophet. Fudge refused to say anything, citing the privacy of underage wizards, but Lupin would later tell Sirius about Fred and George, how they had discovered the Marauder’s Map, and how they did justice to the Marauders of old._

_The next few months were surreal. While he had been on the run, Sirius had been granted full rights as the lord of the ancient and most noble house of Black, something that gave him a strange sense of vindication now that he had everything he never wanted. Still, for a man who had spent over a decade in prison, it was too much too fast. He spent some time at Ravenswood Manor, mostly to avoid his childhood home of 12 Grimmauld Place, but also to hide from the world that had left him to rot in jail. He quickly became frustrated at having created another prison for himself and sought another solution._

_He had exchanged a few letters with the brilliant Weasley twins, and came to find out about their brother, Percy. They described him as a pompous git, but Sirius felt there was more to the story. A bit of research told him that Percy was at the top of his class as Head Boy and was taking several etiquette courses along with his other electives. It wasn’t a resume that Sirius would usually be impressed by, but in his current situation it was precisely what he needed. After a brief correspondence with the lad, he was able to convince him to forgo his job prospects with the Ministry in favor or working for Sirius as a personal assistant. It was quite easy, really, as Sirius had much of the same expectations of Percy as the Ministry, but Sirius offered more flexible hours, better pay, and a more comfortable working environment. Not to mention the pureblood name of Black wasn’t a bad reference to have. It was an offer the boy couldn’t refuse._

_Sirius and Percy took some time to get used to each other, Percy expecting a firm-handed, authoritarian boss, while Sirius was simply hoping for some aid and a companion’s advice. While Sirius at first objected to Percy running his errands, he had to admit that it was much less stressful than having to deal with the official offices himself. Steadily, a casual working relationship was built, and Percy became his (far less mischievous) right hand._

_As the summer went on, and Harry’s return date drew closer, Sirius made preparations. Harry wouldn’t resume school immediately, of course, so he would stay with Sirius. Sirius had gone to collect Harry’s things from the Dursley’s; little did Sirius know there was nothing to collect. He left after giving them an earful and dropping a curse on the stairway-- nothing major, but the bottom stair would drop just an inch or two whenever someone decided to step on it. Having reached a dead end, Sirius sent an owl to Hermione Granger’s parents, hoping they would be more helpful than Fred and George with information on Harry. The twins had been of little help, stating that they weren’t sure of his favorite foods or anything, but could probably sneak into their brother’s room when their mum wasn’t watching to see if they could find old letters or something. While Sirius appreciated the deviancy in the name of good, he declined to invade the private room of a 13-year-old boy._

_Sirius had been surprised to hear back shortly from Mrs. Granger, inviting him to tea to talk. Luckily, Percy had helped him get a presentable hairstyle and wardrobe by that point, so he agreed. Upon meeting the woman, he learned less about Harry and more about what the terrible ordeal with the Time Turner had done to the Granger family. As it turned out, Mr. Granger was never very comfortable with his daughter attending Hogwarts. After all, they were a nice, normal family, and his daughter should attend a nice, normal school where she could get good grades and attend a nice, normal college that would help her get a nice, normal, well-paying job. Mrs. Granger, on the other hand, thought it would be dangerous for their daughter to leave her abilities untrained, and convinced him it would be safer to send Hermione to Hogwarts. When Hermione was caught up in an accidental magical incident, Mr. Granger, of course, blamed his wife. If she hadn’t insisted, their daughter would still be here._

_It didn’t take very much for their relationship to crumble, and even less time after that for Mr. Granger to start staying longer at the office while Mrs. Granger went home by herself, happy to do so to avoid having to be near her husband. She had been heartbroken, but not surprised, to learn about the affair. Divorce came quickly, along with the closure of their joint dental practice. Mr. Granger, happy to have a new doting girlfriend, no longer seemed to care about his wife, leaving no contact information for Mrs. Granger. She had been out of work for some time, and she had no alimony support. Her savings were nearly up, and she confided to feeling like a failure of a mother and was unsure what to do._

_Almost immediately, Sirius invited Mrs. Granger to stay with him at 12 Grimmauld Place. He was still in the process of cleaning it up, but it was fairly central to London, and big enough that Mrs. Granger could choose her own suite of rooms. Assuming she didn’t mind living with a lonely bachelor, she could stay as long as needed to sort herself out, find a job, and save a bit of money. Not to mention, of course, that Hermione would be welcome to stay, too, when she and Harry finally returned. After some thought and a bit of convincing, Mrs. Granger agreed, on the condition that Sirius call her by her first name: Emma._

_***_

**_9:55 AM, September 2nd, 1994 Hogwarts North Tower_ **

Sirius Black let out the tiniest of sighs, checking his pocket watch as he leaned against the stone corridor. He wore a fine suit, tailored to his form in all black, a gray silk ascot tucked into his collar. His hair was beginning to grow out from his initial cut, and he was beginning to like the few inches of curly length that were coming in, thinking it made him look dashing. He hadn’t felt dashing in what felt like an entire lifetime. He crossed his arms against the hubbub of the corridor and leaned ever-so-subtly down to the woman beside him.

“What do you think, Emma?” he whispered, his styled mustache hiding most of the movement of his lips. “My money is on McGonagall giving Molly detention.”

“ _Sirius._ ” Emma’s mouth was pursed, her disapproving hiss ringing harshly in his ear, but Sirius grinned at the spark of amusement he saw in her warm, brown eyes. Entertained for the moment, he leaned away, watching the others in the hall with them.

Most noticeable, or rather, most vocal, was Molly Weasley, tugging her husband’s sleeve and fretting about her youngest son. Fred and George were ignoring her, quietly talking (plotting, more like) amongst themselves. Percy stood stoically with his family, but gave a polite nod when he caught Sirius’ eye. Just beside the Weasley family was Professor McGonagall, likely showing her support for her house and also looking as if she was about ready to throttle the Weasley woman amid her cries of, “What if it’s gone wrong, Arthur? What if something’s happened to my Ronniekins?”

Fred rolled his eyes and muttered, “Can’t have anything bad happen to Ickle Ronniekins, now can we?”

“FRED!! That is your _younger brother!_ ” Molly cried, turning on her son.

The twins shrugged, bowing their heads but not showing any real remorse. Molly sighed and quieted down to only frantic shuffling and loud harrumphs.

Dumbledore stood surrounded by a few of the other professors, Snivellus and Flitwick included. He maintained his regal air of command, but seemed more aged than usual, almost smaller of a man. As if he had less spirit propping him up. Sirius couldn’t say he was surprised.

After his release from Azkaban, Sirius (with Percy’s help) had pushed hard for full rights as Harry’s godfather. Part of that was, naturally, unsealing Lily and James’ will. Before even naming guardians for their son or distributing wealth and assets, the will very clearly outlined the terms of the Potters’ Fidelus Charm in the case that something should go horribly wrong. A witch skilled in protective magics, the charm was cast by Lily herself, and their named Secret-Keeper was none other than Peter Pettigrew. This one small line took any leftover suspicions that were on Sirius and made them completely vanish. He was not a dog of You-Know-Who, he never gave up his best friends, and he’d never had any means or motive to do so in the first place.

However, what had freed Sirius had come back on Dumbledore. “For the greater good” was the professor’s argument when he had insisted on keeping the will sealed. The ministry had gone along with his suggestions that the Boy Who Lived be raised away from the eye of wizards, among muggles McGonagall had once described as “the worst sort.” They had trusted Dumbledore implicitly, and an innocent man was jailed for over a decade because of his incompetence, along with the hero of the wizarding world being condemned to a childhood of abuse from his muggle relatives. By all accounts, it was a travesty, and one that fell squarely on the shoulders of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had been stripped of many of his titles, including Head of the Wizengamot. He was still Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster of Hogwarts, but those titles rested precariously on his laurels. The Hogwarts Board of Directors had called a vote several times, never reaching a majority agreement on Dumbledore’s dismissal. The professor’s title of Supreme Mugwump remained, but it seemed to be out of respect for how long he had held the position already. A formality only. Dumbledore’s influence in the world was waning hard and fast, and it took a visible toll on the man who had indeed worked hard to get where he was in the world. Sirius almost felt bad for him, but his feelings of bitterness made him quickly forget any sympathy he may have had.

Sirius’ gaze wandered to watch the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff: Mad-Eye Moody. Moody was the most grizzled of aurors and had always been a bit off, even in the last wizarding wars, but he seemed even more off-putting than usual. Sirius couldn’t quite put his finger on it… The false eye tucked into Moody’s head whirled around to stare at him. With a shrug and a grimace, Sirius turned his attention elsewhere, wishing that Snivellus had been more inclined to keep Remus’ furry little problem a secret and eliminating the need to replace him with such a questionable professor.

Fidgeting impatiently, he eyed the Unspeakable. Croaker was a man Sirius did not envy; he was certain the man had received many a letter, and perhaps even a howler or two, from Mrs. Weasley over the situation at hand. He looked immensely uncomfortable in this room full of people, and had bags under his eyes that Sirius could see from across the room. The Unspeakable rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger with a silent sigh and pulled his pocket watch from his coat. Sirius did the same, seeing that it was just past 10 AM.

“It’s nearly time,” Croaker announced with a rasp. “Everyone, make sure you leave plenty of room near the bottom of the stairs. We don’t want anyone swept up in the wake of the magic.” There was a magical marker that was emitting a dim, pulsating glow on the spot where the three students were expected to come back. At Croaker’s word, all the people in the room took a few steps back, crowding against the stone wall of the corridor and leaving more than enough space for three young teens to appear. Mrs. Weasley, startled by the potential threat, threw her arms across her children to keep them behind her. Fred and George rolled their eyes, while Ginny and Percy seemed unsurprised.

The room was silent but for the nervous shuffling of folks trying to keep their distance from the marked spot. The magical marker turned bright yellow, flaring up at the presence of an unseen magic.

Croaker checked his pocket watch once more and called out, “Six minutes past. It’s time!” Sirius was unsure if it was because of the yellow glow in the room, but the Unspeakable looked unwell. He felt Emma beside him, clutching his elbow; without thinking, he relaxed his posture and grasped her hand, both of them watching the now-blazing marker, hardly breathing, refusing to blink. The children were coming home.

The silence was broken with a thundering crack and a blinding white light that made all the onlookers close their eyes. In the moment it took for the light to clear, Sirius could hear a commotion. Blinking sight back to his eyes, he saw a massive white being-- something similar to a hippogriff, yet not. Confusion washed over him. Had something gone wrong after all? Then he saw him-- James. Wearing something completely ridiculous, but James nonetheless. Sirius felt panic rising in his chest. After staying sane all those years in Azkaban, he had finally lost his mind after being acquitted.

“H-Hermione?”

Sirius glanced down at Emma, who looked as surprised as he felt, but her sight was locked onto something. He took a breath and re-evaluated the scene. The griffin, as it appeared, with James-- no, not James, the face wasn’t quite right… Harry, then? Harry on the back of the griffin. His clothes were just as ridiculous as he’d first interpreted; red and gold robes with black accents, sparkling with magic that ascended up to the shoulder- and head-pieces that made a literal point. Sirius cringed a bit and looked away, taking in the young women to the griffin’s left. A well-dressed and pretty blonde who was expecting from the looks of it, and a bushy-haired brunette. Sirius recognized her wide brown eyes and flushed cheeks as similar to Emma’s and knew immediately that this must be her daughter. Unfortunate that he seemed to be meeting her in her bedclothes. He heard a panicked “Eep!” squeak out of the girl as she ducked and hid behind the griffin that was clearly familiar to her. Sirius finally turned his attention to the last member of the group, appalled that he hadn’t noticed before. The tall redhead stood with his feet apart and his hand poised as if to attack, looking just as shocked as everybody else. He was dressed almost as strangely as Harry, but his gold and blue adorned robes were less harsh to look at and didn’t appear to shimmer with magic.

Sirius had no idea what was going on, but there was always one person who seemed to have all the answers. “ _DUMBLEDORE!_ What fresh hell have you been plotting this time?!” he roared, glaring at the aged headmaster.

“Dumbledore?” Sirius froze as Harry’s voice rang out-- not the voice of a 13-year-old boy, but the voice of a man. So many things were wrong… Sirius didn’t know where to start. Harry looked around the corridor-- glancing at the teachers, the Weasleys, and barely giving Sirius a second glance-- why would he? He had no idea who Sirius was.

Croaker let out a few choked coughs. “Er…” All eyes fell on him, complete silence stifling the corridor but for the blonde’s soft words of comfort to Hermione. “Ah… yes. There-- There may have been a, er… _slight_ distortion in the continuum--”

“ _SLIGHT?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?_ ” Molly Weasley’s demonic roar tore through the hall, silencing even those who had come through time.

“Mrs. Weasley, I’m sure there’s a good explanation for--” Dumbledore was cut off by Mrs. Weasley.

“ _I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE EXPLANATION! I WANT MY BOY BACK!”_

Sirius was about to speak up himself, about to redirect all the anger he had been about to catapult onto Dumbledore to its rightful place with the Unspeakable.

**“SHUT. THE FUCK UP. YOU SCREECHING FUCKING HARPY!”**

Suddenly, all eyes were on the redhead-- on Ron Weasley. Molly’s mouth flapped agape stupidly; how was anyone supposed to respond to that? Ron took a few deep breaths, keeping his freckled face from flushing. “Does someone want to explain to me how in the hell we ended up back here?!”

“Ron…” The blonde had come around the griffin, leaving Hermione in her hiding spot to place her hand on Ron’s back. He grew noticeably calmer at the sound of her voice and turned with a murmured, “You alright?”

Harry’s mind was racing. He never thought he would be back in Hogwarts, or hear the name Dumbledore again. He couldn’t figure out what had happened, or why. Even the Weasley’s shouting match was drowned out by his thoughts. He slid from the griffin and stepped forward. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked, clearly and calmly.

A few glances were cast towards Dumbledore, as it was his school, but Croaker quickly stepped forward, stopping in front of Harry with his head bowed. “Algernon Croaker, Department of Mysteries,” he rasped shakily.

“What’s the simple explanation?” Harry demanded, crossing his arms with a frown. He wasn’t sure about the others, but he was not pleased to find himself back at Hogwarts.

Croaker flinched. “There isn’t one,” he admitted, “but it may be simplest to say that someone meddled with the flow of time. You-- all three of you-- were returned on the right date and time, but…” he looked behind Harry. “I’m not sure what happened. You were supposed to be in a time loop, stuck in limbo… I-I don’t know what she did…”

“Who?” Harry asked sternly.

“The dr-- Er… He called her The Meddler… I think her name was Chronormu.”

Harry glanced back at Ron who was slapping his forehead in frustration. “Bronze dragonflight. Should have known.”

“That explains _so much_ ,” a quiet female voice remarked from behind the griffin.

Croaker looked even more confused. “That’s classified information! How do you--” he clamped down on his tongue. Best to shut up before he was thrown in Azkaban as well as fired. “Nevermind. Here.” He handed Harry a business card. “Since you lot seem to have a better grasp on things than I do, I’ll let you handle things here. I’ve reports to make and a job to lose. Contact me if there’s anything else.” He tipped his hat and strode quickly from the hall before anyone could stop him.

Harry watched Croaker leave, at a loss. Frustration kept him silent, as he was unable to make sense of the snarl of thoughts trying to form into words. With a frown, Harry crossed his arms and watched the floor, deep in thought. Sirius looked on, and found himself uncomfortable, unsure if he should say something or what it should be if he did. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers as Harry turned around.

“Hermione, how long do you think the Bronze Dragonflight has been-- Hermione?” Harry had turned and realized that Hermione was still hiding. He quickly made his way around the griffin, and Sirius could hear some murmured conversation that was abruptly ended by an indignified cry of “ _Harry!”_

Emma had taken Sirius’ hand again. He looked down and saw the stubborn set of her jaw as she said, “I want to see my daughter.”

He nodded. “Of course,” he replied meekly, letting her lead him to the griffin when the children they had waited so long for were hiding. Jadwiga ruffled her feathers as they approached, but Emma hardly hesitated as she was so close to her goal.

“--can’t believe you would suggest something so lewd--” Hermione was muttering to herself as she pulled on a more substantial robe over her night-things, but she clamped her mouth shut as she saw Sirius and Emma.

“Hermione?”

“M-Mum…” Hermione pulled the robe tighter around her shoulders, watching her mother with wide eyes. She teared up, covering her mouth with a hand. “I-I missed you…”

Emma flew to her daughter, now the same height, and wrapped her in her arms, petting her hair as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, my girl… I missed you, too…”

Harry took a step back; he knew better than anyone how much Hermione had missed her family. He glanced at Sirius and raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me sir, but… You’re not Hermione’s father. So, who are you?”

Sirius’ mouth went dry. Ah. How to answer that question. “Well… Let me start by introducing myself. Lord Sirius Black, at your service.” He gave a little bow.

“Sirius Black…” The name sounded familiar to Harry… but where had he heard it before..? “Wait. Sirius Black? The murderer?!” He took a step back, reaching for the elaborate blade at his side.

Sirius frowned. “I’ll have you know I’ve never murdered anyone. Do you think they would let a convicted murderer just stroll into a school?”

Harry froze. “Good point, but they let Lucius Malfoy in here, too.”

“Are you daft, boy? I said ‘convicted.’”

Harry relaxed. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Sirius Black, but anyone who was suspicious of the Malfoy family couldn’t be all bad. “Alright. So what _are_ you doing here?”

“Well… I don’t suppose anyone ever told you, but… I’m your godfather, Harry. Your legal guardian.” He eyed Harry up and down. “Although you look a bit old for that now…”

Harry was quiet. How ironic that he spent his childhood with a family that hated him, his school years with teachers that ignored his cries for help, his teen years on Azeroth learning from the most hands-off teacher he had ever met, and now that he was an adult he had a proper guardian? It was almost laughable. Harry had so many questions for Sirius, and was about to start asking when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“Mum-- Mum, I want you to meet Harry!”

“I’ve met Harry, dear. It’s been a while, but--”

“No, Mum, Harry is-- Harry’s my husband!”

 _Uh-oh._ Harry gulped and stared stupidly at Mrs. Granger, who seemed just as shocked as he did. Hermione smiled encouragingly at him, so he stiffly offered his hand.

“Nice to see you again, er… Mum?”

Mrs. Granger paled and Harry quickly back-tracked. “Mrs. Granger! I didn’t mean-- er… S-sorry!”

“N-no, it’s fine… I was just… I was expecting my 14-year-old girl to come home. H-How old are you now, Hermione?”

“I’m 19, Mum.”

“I-I see…” She clutched her heart, and the others remained silent as she thought. The Weasley’s could be heard chatting in the background until Molly raised her voice again. The group peered from around Jadwiga to see what the commotion was about.

“I refuse to accept that you’ve married some-- some-- _SOME MUGGLE HARLOT!”_

“BETHANY IS NOT A HARLOT YOU FUCKING DAFT BITCH! SHE. IS. MY. _WIFE!!_ ”

“UNDER WHAT LAW? I BET IT’S NOT EVEN LEGAL-- PROBABLY TRAPPED YOU BY GETTING PREGNANT--”

Ron roared, loud, primal, and furious. _“SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!”_

“Molly--”

“Not now, Arthur, our son has been brainwashed! Ronald, listen to your mother--”

“I’m not listening to ANYONE that insults Bethany!”

“RONALD--!”

Mrs. Weasley was cut off by a sudden chill, and before anyone could blink, her red face was frozen mid-sentence, encased along with her entire body in a block of ice. The other Weasleys were flabbergasted. Arthur spoke first.

“Ron-- Y-your mother… What have you done?!”

“Given her time to cool off. It’ll wear off in about a minute, and I personally don’t want to be here when it does. Come on, Betty.” Ron stalked off, the teachers and other adults giving him a wide berth as Bethany shrugged and followed, nodding quickly at Arthur as if to say, “Sorry, but she had it coming.”

Fred and George watched Ron go, took another look at Molly, and in unison said, “Wicked.”

“Boys!” Mr. Weasley barked, a forlorn look at his frozen wife. The look on his face was unreadable, but Harry couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem upset with Ron, only disappointed in Mrs. Weasley.

Once they were further down the hall, around a corner and thoroughly away from the commotion, Bethany spoke up. “Well, that could have gone better.”

“I’ll say!” Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. “I told you it was for the best that I came to Azeroth!” He paced back and forth, scratching the tip of his nose with his thumb and muttering some unkind things about his mother.

“Ron… I think you should go back and apologize.”

“WHAT?!” Ron spun, his eyes wide and his face flushed. Bethany just stared back calmly, her hands neatly tucked under her stomach. Ron blew out a breath, getting his temper under control before speaking in a calmer manner. “Did you hear everything she said about you? I’m not apologizing! She should be begging _you_ for forgiveness, if anything!”

“It’s been a long time, Ron. For you, anyway. I remember you said you were supposed to come back here after only a year, so clearly that’s quite the shock for your mother. Especially considering how you greeted her?” Bethany arched a delicate brow at her husband, who reddened appropriately.

“Alright, fine,” Ron muttered, “I was a bit of dick. But that’s still no excuse--”

“She’s family.” Bethany smoothed a hand over her stomach. “Our child deserves to know their grandparents, and your mother is the only grandmother they’ll have.”

Ron went silent, looking over his wife. He huffed, and paced back and forth some more, dragged his hands through his hair until it was thoroughly unkempt. Anger still burned in the pit of his stomach, but he also knew Bethany well enough to know she wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

“Fine,” he acquiesced through gritted teeth. “But only if my family behaves. If Mum starts insulting you again--”

“Then we’ll set the boundary immediately. Ron, I know she’s made a bad impression, but I’m sure she can redeem herself. You know the Light--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, the Light shines on everyone and all that.” Ron sighed heavily and gave Bethany a look. “I really hate that you’re a priest sometimes…” She only beamed at him, turning to go back. Ron followed with another sigh.

Back in the corridor at the base of the spiral staircase, Jadwiga fidgeted. She was ready for flight, and they had been standing around doing nothing for far too long. Harry noticed the gentle snorts and ruffled feathers and patted the beast gently on her beak. A stark realization struck him as Mrs. Weasley began to thaw out.

“Hermione, I’ve got to go back... The Crusade will absolutely burn me alive if I don’t drop off these supplies.”

“Crusade? What-- what kind of world have you been living in?!” Emma took her daughter by both shoulders, worry lines etched into her forehead and corners of her mouth.

“Mum, don’t listen to Harry… He’s being dramatic.”

“I’m really not,” Harry retorted.

 _“He is,”_ Hermione insisted, “as he is obviously sleep-deprived.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason he’s sleep-deprived?”

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, suddenly remembering how long it was since he’d had a rest. “Oh, it’s nothing… We got a return order to be back in three days time. I just wanted to get it done as soon as possible, you know, get back home… So I did all the inventory sheets and packing last night. I even made a trip up to drop some supplies.” He patted Jadwiga. “This is the last load here, and then I was going home.”

“But what’s this about a Crusade?” Emma asked frantically. “That sounds dangerous!”

“Oh… well...” Harry glanced at Hermione, not sure if he should say anything about the undead scourge they had been fighting for the last year or so.

“It’s perfectly fine, Mum. It’s just a name. The Argent Crusade mostly does missionary work, things like providing food and shelter to the needy. They’re really only a crusader force when there’s some kind of dire threat.”

Ron and Bethany approached, and Ron perked up at hearing about the Argent Crusade. “Oi, Hermione, are you telling them about how Harry joined up and threw fireballs at the undead horde?” Ron grinned at Hermione’s horrified mother. “He’s got some nice stories. Not as cool as mine, but still.”

Hermione glared daggers at her friend. “ _No_ , I was telling her how the Crusade is not nearly as bad as it sounds.”

“...Oh. Right, then. I’ll just, er…” Bethany snatched her husband’s ear, pulling him back over to his own family where Molly sat plopped on the floor, dazed.

“ _UNDEAD?!_ You’ve been fighting _zombies?_ That sounds HORRIBLE! Hermione, you can’t go back!” She clutched at her daughter, and after a moment of thought snatched Harry’s sleeve as well. “Both of you! It’s not safe-- stay here! Come _home!”_

Suddenly, all eyes were on them; the professors, the Weasleys, Dumbledore. Harry glanced around nervously, feeling the sudden pressure Mrs. Granger had thrust on them. “Er… Well, regardless, I still need to make my delivery,” he said stiffly.

Hermione sighed, knowing just talking wouldn’t get them anywhere. “Look. Mum. Harry _has_ to go back. And I would like to get dressed properly, if that’s all right. Why don’t you come back to Azeroth with us? You can take a look around our apartment, see that it’s perfectly safe, and then--”

“I don’t want to be stuck over there!” Emma cried. “We don’t even know how you came back to us!”

Hermione chewed her lip, a habit of hers that Harry recognized as her thinking quickly. “I have an idea of that, Mum, but Harry and I will need to look into that once we’re back on Azeroth. As for coming back, well, I know the portal spell. I hadn’t been attuned here after I’d learned it, so I was never able to open a portal. But now, well, I can recognize the magical signature. There’s even a magical marker that we can use.” She pointed to the empty air where the Unspeakables had placed their marker.

“But--” Emma was cut off.

“Miss Granger, I would appreciate it if you did not open any portals in the main hallway.” Dumbledore stepped forward, steepling his fingers together. “Rather, I think, one of the empty towers would be appropriate. Don’t you think?”

Hermione glanced at Harry. Harry scratched his chin and asked, “Would Jadwiga fit? As long as we can get my griffin home, then that sounds alright…”

“Perhaps an abandoned classroom then? How quickly must you depart?”

“The sooner the better,” Harry said.

“Of course. Severus.” Dumbledore nodded at the potions professor. “Why don’t you help find an accommodation for them, and perhaps accompany them, if that would be agreeable?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. They shared an unspoken understanding of how complicated and tangled their lives would become now that they had been re-connected with Earth. Harry gave the smallest of shrugs, so Hermione nodded at Dumbledore.

“Excellent,” the professor said with a clap of his hands. “We shall see you on your return… tomorrow?” Hermione again nodded. “Tomorrow, then. Safe travels!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was both the fastest, and longest to write. In terms of Hours spent, it was quick, however due to IRL the time spent finalizing, and posting dragged on *forever*
> 
> We will both hopefully be more expedient on future chapters.


	4. Family Pt 1

Ron rubbed his ear where Bethany had clamped her fingers down like a vice grip; she may be small, but she was certainly strong. He frowned as he looked over his family; his father looked just as tired as he remembered, Ginny scrambled to help their chilled mother up, Fred and George were plotting amongst themselves, and Percy stood to the side trying his best to look dignified. Really, nothing had changed.

“Oi, Betty,” he hissed. “Do we really have to..?” Ron caught the look in his wife’s eye and didn’t bother to complete his sentence. Of course he had to. He sighed, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry and Hermione departed with Snape. “Right, then,” he sighed to himself, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself for the fray.

“Hey, look.” Ron felt his shoulders tense as his family turned their attention to him. “I, er… Shouldn’t have frozen Mum. Uh… Sorry.” He coughed into his fist awkwardly, the other Weasleys eyeing him warily. “But if anyone--  _ anyone-- _ says anything bad about my wife again, I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.” He glared over each face in his family, stopping on Molly and practically boring a hole between her eyes as the warmth returned to her skin.

Bethany let out an audible sigh. This wasn’t exactly the kind of apology she’d had in mind, but at this point, it was probably the best they would get out of Ron.

Just as Bethany thought they could move on, she saw the flush of color and slight huff in Molly’s face as she drew herself up to her full height.  _ “RONAL--” _

A hand slammed hard into Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, startling her out of her war cry. Arthur’s fingers were gripped hard around his wife, pressing deep into the worn fabric of her robes. “Ron, thank you for your apology.” He side-eyed Molly, who looked flabbergasted. Even the other Weasley children seemed a bit shocked; no one had ever seen Mr. Weasley overrule his wife before.

“Er… Right…” Ron eyed his mother, but the torrent of words he knew was seething under the surface never came.

“So, Ron. Why don’t you properly introduce us to your wife?” Mr. Weasley blinked at the words coming from his mouth, clearly having trouble reconciling that his youngest son was the first of his children to marry. Mrs. Weasley bristled beneath her husband, blatantly avoiding looking at Bethany.

“S-sure,” Ron stammered. Bethany slipped her hand into his, and he felt his confidence bolster slightly. “So, uh, this is Bethany.” He gestured to her with his free hand; this time, no one asked where she had graduated from, thankfully. He couldn’t handle another of his mother’s tantrums about Betty being a muggle. Ron glanced at his wife and couldn’t help grinning when he saw the winning smile on her face as she gave a polite little wave.

“It’s nice to meet everyone. Ron’s told me a lot about you, and I always hoped I’d be able to meet you. I didn’t have a family, so I thought it must be nice to have so many siblings and parents.”

“Well, it’s not that great. I have to share a room with this bloke.” Fred gestured at his twin.

“As if you’re a peach to live with! I have to look at your ugly face all day.”

“We have the same face!”

“Right, but mine’s much more handsome.”

“Boys…” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, feeling a headache coming on.

“What?” Fred and George asked in unison, giving falsely innocent shrugs.

“You’ll have to pardon my  _ younger _ brothers,” Percy interjected, stepping forward to offer Bethany his hand. “Let me be the first to welcome you to the family. I’m sure Ron’s told you all about me. I’m his older brother, Percy.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Percy,” Bethany replied, taking his hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the twins are Fred and George?”

Percy nodded. “Very astute. Don’t bother trying to tell them apart, though. They switch places all the time, not even our parents can tell them apart most days.”

“Noted,” Bethany said with a crooked smile. “Let’s see… Bill and Charlie are the oldest, right? I guess they’re busy with their jobs, though. So that leaves… Ginny, was it?”

Ginny, who had been trying to hide behind Molly, stepped out with a frown. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“You know, I’ve always wanted a sister. Ron talks about you a lot, so I hope you don’t mind that I already sort of think of you as one--”

“Actually, I do mind,” Ginny snapped with a frown. Bethany bit her tongue, taken aback. “Look, I’m sure you’re…  _ nice.” _ It didn’t sound as if she believed that one bit. “But I never wanted a sister, so I think I’ll be perfectly fine by myself.”

_ “Ginny!” _ Ron sounded appalled, inflamed at the idea that his sister didn’t like his wife. Molly, sure, but… Ginny was always reasonable! “You barely know her--”

“And she barely knows me.” Ginny shrugged. “Look, I know this is important and all, but I really want to attend my Care of Magical Creatures class instead.” She shot Bethany a look and laid a gentle hand on her mother’s arm. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Oh… Of course, dear. Your studies are important, after all.” Mrs. Weasley couldn’t quite hide the delight in her voice as she gave her permission for Ginny to avoid Bethany. The girl nodded and stalked away, her footsteps echoing through the corridor.

Bethany stared at the stone floor, anxiously twisting her wedding band around her finger as she chewed her lip.  _ That didn’t go as I’d hoped, _ she thought to herself.

Ron slung an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t mind it, Betty, she’ll come around,” he said quickly, glancing back at his retreating sister. He’d never known Ginny to act like that before, so he wasn’t really sure if his words were true or not. Still, best to comfort his wife for now and worry about the details later.

_ “Ahem.” _

The Weasleys all looked up, their attention grabbed by the forgotten Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore standing serenely beside her.

“If you don’t mind my saying, I should think there are better places to have this sort of reunion than in the middle of the corridor,” the woman remarked crisply, but not unkindly.

“Indeed, Minerva. In fact…” Dumbledore pulled an hourglass from beneath his long beard. “It’s nearly 10:30. Lunch will be ready in about an hour, but I daresay we may be able to convince the kitchens to serve a bit early. I find one always thinks more clearly on a full stomach, don’t you?” Dumbledore directed his inquisitive stare from over his half-moon spectacles towards Bethany.

“Ah… yes.” Bethany unconsciously smoothed her hands over her baby bump. “I could definitely use some lunch.”

Ron’s expression shifted, looking somewhere between confused and annoyed. It quickly passed and he cleared his throat decisively. “Right… Well, if Betty’s hungry, then we should eat.”

“Of course,” Arthur nodded knowingly. “It’s best not to deny a pregnant woman food. Only a fool would try.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, rolling her eyes as if to imply that her husband had once done exactly that.

“Shall we, then?” Dumbledore asked mildly, gesturing towards the path that would lead them to the great hall. Some eager, some reluctant, McGonagall thoroughly agitated about being shepherded along, the group made their way through the school, McGonagall only too happy to break away to inform the kitchen of their needs. They arrived in the hall, Dumbledore heading for his usual place at the head table, gesturing for Molly and Arthur to come sit as well.

Fred, George, and Percy naturally moved to sit at the Gryffindor table in their usual pews; Percy had been graduated for some time now, but a single summer was not enough to erase muscle memory. As it turned out, not even 5 years was enough to erase that instinct, as Ron moved to sit by his brothers, holding his hand out to Bethany to help her sit at his side.

“Hey, this side is 5th years and up,  _ little brother, _ ” Fred teased, pointing Ron to the far side of the table. Ron’s ears flushed red with fury and embarrassment, frozen in place as he tried to think of a good comeback.

“Yeah, little brother, you know you’re not cool enough to sit with the big kids, yet,” George teased. “You gotta grow up a little more!”

“Come now, Ron’s a fourth year,” Percy chided absently, making himself comfortable. “He’ll be just fine…” He trailed off, blinking in confusion. He finally glanced up at Ron with a frown. “Ron, aren’t you, er... “

“Aren’t I  _ what _ , Perce?” he challenged. “Just because I’m the youngest doesn’t mean you can-- What, Betty? Can’t you see I’m…” Ron trailed off as Bethany whispered in his ear, doing her best not to laugh. Suddenly, Ron puffed his chest out a bit. “HEY, THAT’S RIGHT! You can’t boss me around any more, I’m  _ older _ than you are!” He smirked down at Fred, George, and Percy, high on the rush of finally,  _ finally _ beating them all at something.

Bethany couldn’t help it; she broke down in giggles, as did Fred and George. Percy frowned as if just realizing this fact himself.

“He didn’t even notice!” George cackled, slapping Fred’s shoulder.

“I thought we’d be able to keep it going longer,” Fred lamented, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “At least we know where the brains in the relationship are,” he added, winking at Bethany.

“I would have thought that’d be obvious,” she grinned.

“Ha, ha,” Ron grumbled, sulking behind his flaming red cheeks. He crossed his arms, throwing a betrayed look to his wife. “And here I thought you were on  _ my _ side.”

“Sorry, Ron! I just-- I thought you knew, but--” She broke off in giggles again, setting the twins off as well.

“All right, all right. Enough fun at Ron’s expense,” Percy said, holding up a hand. He had a slight tinge at his ears as well, although he was acting too dignified as to let it bother him. “Let’s all sit and--”

“Pardon me.” Dumbledore’s voice rang clearly across the hall, commanding attention. He stood serenely at his spot in the center of the table, hands clasped easily in front of him. “Since there are so few of us, why don’t you all join us here at the head table? Not to mention I’m sure your parents would like more of an opportunity to catch up with young Ronald.”

Fred and George didn’t need to be told twice, and bounded up to the head table; Percy took a moment to straighten his clothes before striding forward, tall and proud. Ron and Bethany shared a look; she shrugged slightly, not seeing any reason not to. Bethany recovered faster, going ahead of him. Everyone settled in quickly. Ron sat between Bethany and his father. Next to him was Molly, with Dumbledore to her right. Percy, naturally, took a place at Dumbledore’s right hand, pushing the twins unfortunately to his other side.

“So, ahem… Bethany.” The table’s occupants ignored the thoroughly grumpy  _ harrumph _ that sounded from Molly. “What do you do for a living? Or does Ron support you both?” Arthur and Bethany leaned around Ron to converse more easily. Ron slid his hand over Bethany’s knee and gave her a gentle smile.

“Well, I’m a priest of the Light. It’s...” Bethany’s mouth twisted, trying to find the words to explain all her job encompassed and how it all worked. “Well, basically, I work for the church in Stormwind-- that’s the city we live in-- so normally it just pays in food, clothing, and housing.” She frowned as she heard an uppity sniff from Molly, but continued.  _ “However, _ if you volunteer for the military, like I did,then they pay you quite well for your services.”

“Betty’s the best healer I know,” Ron interjected. “If she didn’t have to leave the frontlines, her warpurse would’ve been bigger than mine,” he added proudly.

Arthur nodded knowingly. “Er… right. About that. You… did mention a war earlier, didn’t you? What, er… was that about?”

Ron cleared his throat. “Okay… So,  _ ages _ ago, there was a prince--”

“Oh, Ron, you can’t start  _ that _ far back!”

Ron huffed. “Alright, fine. Anyway, in the far north of the world, there was this bloody cunt that put on a frozen crown and started commanding all these undead-- bad news, really. So we all went up there, knocked around some deadheads, and killed this guy. World’s safe now, all thanks to us.”

“Ron, dear, I think you left some things out.”

“Well which is it, then? You said not to start too far back, and I thought that was all the essentials!”

Bethany rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything further.

“So anyway. Yeah, we’re kind of considered heroes back home.” Ron crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair and feeling quite superior, indeed.

“I… see.” Arthur scratched his head, disturbing the wispy strands of red hair that remained; he had so many questions, but wasn’t quite sure where to start.

“Mrs. Weasley-- Er…” Dumbledore cut himself short as both Molly and Bethany turned their attention towards him. “Ah… Bethany.” The younger woman sat a bit straighter in her chair as the older slouched, trying to hide the scowl on her face. “You mentioned a ‘church of the Light.’ Tell me, what sorts of principles are practiced?”

“Oh, well, the Light is everything that’s good in the world. Of course, where there is light, there is also shadow, but we embrace the duality and recognize that even when we can’t see it, the Light is there. It’s more complicated than that, of course, but that’s the overarching concept. Day to day, we of the church make sure that people are fed and clothed, and have a place to sleep. The orphanage in Stormwind is run by the church, actually, and it’s one of the best places to grow up, with or without parents. I was… actually raised there, myself. It’s why I chose to join the priesthood when I got older.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound terribly magical,” Molly sneered.

Ron frowned and spoke up, his voice low and dangerous. “Mum, remember what I said--”

“Oh, good, everyone’s made themselves comfortable.” McGonagall’s voice rang from the center of the hall, stopping the direction of the conversation. “Excellent. Lunch is served!” She took a seat beside the Weasley twins, secretly relishing how they subtly withered under her warning stare. No sooner had she spread her napkin across her lap than sandwiches of all kinds appeared in towers on the central platters, and a few bowls had filled themselves with different soups. Sliced fruit also materialized before them. It was a simple spread, for the Hogwarts Great Hall, but clearly quite a bit of care had gone into the hurried preparation of the meal.

“Oh, wow!” Bethany gasped. “It just… phases in like that? All the time?”

“Of course, dear,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “You see, we use  _ magic _ to do things here.”

Bethany had her mouth open to retort, but Ron got there first. “Alright, you need to stop this  _ right bloody now. _ Just because Bethany didn’t go to Hogwarts doesn’t mean she’s not magical! And just because we don’t have our food teleported to the table every night doesn’t mean Azeroth  _ isn’t magical! _ Just shut up about it, already!”

“Now, now.” Dumbledore shook out his napkin sharply. “Let us not make assumptions about things we’ve never seen. Ms. Bethany, please tell me more of this Church of Light of yours. It has me quite intrigued.”

“Gladly,” Bethany said with a sigh of relief. She wasn’t exactly keen to have her husband fighting with her mother-in-law over her. Ron shot Molly a look, but only slunk into his seat with a slight grumble. Molly, directly beside Dumbledore, seemed reluctant to steer the conversation away from him and silently ladled soup into her bowl. “Is there anything you’d like to learn specifically?” she asked, choosing one of each sandwich for her plate.

“Let’s see…” Dumbledore wiped a crumb from his mustache with his napkin. “What of the rankings within the church? Is it a birthright?”

“Sometimes,” Bethany replied, settling in with her sandwich pile and a hearty helping of potato soup. “Some families are very prominent users of the Light, so naturally they have a leg up in the church both in power and influence.” She paused, scarfing a few bites of a sandwich and spooning a few mouthfuls of soup in. “If you lack the power, though, then you’ll never be a leader within the church, so it’s not as if it’s unfounded.”

“And what is your rank within the church?” Dumbledore phrased the question so innocently, so mildly, that Bethany didn’t catch it; Ron, however, noticed his mother pause eating to listen to the answer. He had never been so proud of the old headmaster before.

“That’s hard to answer…” Bethany tore a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in half as she collected her thoughts. “In a church setting, I might be considered a lesser priest, or an aide. In the case of caring for patients and healing, I would guess I would be in charge, but in that case it’s likely a military-driven operation. So, as far as that goes, I effectively carry the rank of Knight-Champion.” Ron sat a little straighter in his chair, unable to hide his smug grin. The others didn’t seem to understand immediately, so she added, “Healers carry ranks differently, but the chain of command is basically this: 1 legion of 4800 soldiers is led by a lieutenant commander. Their legion is broken into smaller cohorts of 480 soldiers each, which are led by two knight-champions, one representing the soldiers and the other in charge of medical operations. That’s what I do. Within cohorts are smaller manipules of 120 soldiers each, led by Knight-Captains. Ron is a Knight-Captain, so technically, I’m his superior, but as I said, healers rank a bit differently. I would defer to Ron in a combat situation, but the moment healing becomes the priority, the authority shifts.”

“You’re a commanding officer?” Arthur sounded rather proud as he met Ron’s eyes.

“Yeah! I mean, it’s not all fun and games, but… I think I’m pretty good at it.” Father and son beamed at each other. “You should see Betty, though. Right scary when it comes down to telling the old wardogs to get to the healers’ tents.”

“Ron, stop,” Bethany laughed.

“No, really!” Ron turned to his parents, his eyes alight as he shoved a sandwich into his mouth. “So before the war, King Wrynn shows up to help the troops prepare for the invasion of Northrend, right? So he’s out and about, sparring with the high ranking officers, raising morale or whatever. He and Highlord Fordragon get into an exhibition match, and the Highlord catches His Majesty with the business end of a blade.” Ron took a moment to greedily gulp down some water before going right back to stuffing his face. “Now don’t get me wrong, King Wrynn isn’t some pampered prince; he can take a hit and keep going, no problem. These guys are mad now, really going at it full force to get a victory out of the match. Fordragon takes a blunt to the face, catches Wrynn in the knee, and then Wryn  _ drops his sword _ and tackles Fordragon to the ground, pounding his face in. The men are going nuts; it’s not every day the king himself gets into a brawl like this, let alone with Bolvar Fordragon. They’re both great military leaders, everyone trusts them, and here they are, enjoying a good fight just like any of us, and getting real bloody over it, too. Fordragon’s 3rd Legion is rooting for him, and of course the 7th is cheering for Wrynn--”

“What kind of horrible place is this? Fighting in the streets? Civilized people don’t--”

“Mum, later, lemme finish the story! Anyway, I dunno who started it, but some bloke starts taking bets. Starts shouting about 3-to-1 odds for Fordragon. So now the crowd is going even wilder, which is what must have gotten Betty’s attention, I guess. Betty just walks through the middle of these frenzied idiots, and everyone around her kind of goes quiet. She just stares at the King and Fordragon for a second, and, calm as can be, says, “Healer’s tent. Now.”” Ron paused for dramatic effect, and to cram more food into his mouth. “Of course, they don’t listen to her, they’re into it something fierce. So she walks into the middle of their fight, grabs both of them by the ear, and drags them out of the ring. It was incredible, you’d never heard such silent soldiers. Everyone kind of just shuffled around for a minute and then left. No one was even mad.” Ron finished off the water in his glass and added, “And that was the day the 3rd and 7th Legions learned that you don’t fuck with Betty Weasley.”

“ _ RONALD! _ Language!” Molly was red in the face

“Oh, sorry. That was the day they learned that no one messes with Betty Weasley.” Ron barely acknowledged his mother, quickly correcting himself and slurping down a beef noodle stew. Molly seemed to fluff in her seat a bit, but had nothing to add, so she settled for glaring at her ham sandwich.

Percy shared a glance with the twins, all of them silently agreeing that Ron’s wife seemed competent and up to the task of policing her husband. The group settled in, a bit quieter now, finishing their plates and delving into more intimate conversations amongst themselves. Percy delicately dabbed at his mouth with a napkin as he set his spoon down. “If we might turn our attention back to Ron for a moment,” he announced, “could I inquire about the politics of your new home? I must admit, I’m rather confused as to whether this ‘Stormwind’ of yours in a city or a kingdom?”

Bethany and Ron replied at the same time.

“Well, it’s--”

“Yes.” Ron caught a glare from his wife at him simple answer, and quickly elaborated to cover himself. “It’s sort of both. Which is what I’m sure Betty was going to tell you…” He breathed a small sigh of relief as she relaxed in her seat again. “It’s the Kingdom of Stormwind, and Stormwind is also the capital city of the Kingdom, as well as the central force of The Alliance.” When he was met with confused stares, he drew a hand over his mouth, thinking. “It’s probably easier to show you… Hang on a sec.”

Ron stood and made his way between the head table and house tables. He raised both his hands and crafted a perfectly clear, smooth wall of ice. Standing with his back to the head table and the wall before him, he took a moment to think. He raised his right hand and, slowly, added more ice to the wall. This ice was bluish in color and frosted over, making it easy to see. By the time he was done, Ron had created three meticulously drawn shapes over his ice canvas.

He stepped to the side and pulled a flask from his hip, taking a long drink as everyone looked over his work.  _ Bugger all, _ he thought, annoyed.  _ I thought I was getting too tired casting… There’s not enough magic here. Guess I’ll have to survive off my rations for a bit until we get back to Azeroth. Whatever, fake it ‘til you make it, I suppose. _

“Right,” he said, gesturing as if giving a presentation. “So, as you can see here, Azeroth has three known continents. Kalmindor, Northrend, and the Eastern Kingdoms.” The continents lit up with a soft magical glow as he pointed each out. “Kalimdor and Northrend are right shitholes, in my opinion, so let’s get to the good one.” He waved his hand once more and sent a wave of frost over the other continents, covering them from view so the group could focus on, as he put it, “the good one.”

“Right, so, Stormwind. The city is tucked right in here, and the kingdom kind of sprawls across all the neighboring areas.” He pointed, and Stormwind’s location lit up on his map; the regions of Elwynn Forest, Westfall, Redridge Mountains, and Duskwood glowed softly around it. “Basically, it’s all territory claimed by the humans of Stormwind. If we want to talk about the Alliance, well…” Ron rubbed his chin, gathering his thoughts before moving on.

“The Kingdom of Stormwind is the lynchpin of the Alliance, but it also includes the Dwarven kingdom--” Stormwind’s lands faded as Dun Morough, Loch Modan, the Wetlands, the Hinterlands, and the Arathi Highlands began to glow with magic instead-- “as well as the gnomes they took in when they lost their city. Not worth mentioning, honestly. These areas here, though.” Ron pointed out Silverpine Forest, Tirisfal Glades, the Ghostlands, and the Eastern and Western Plaguelands with his magic. “Used to be the human kingdom of Lordaeron, until they got hit with the plague. Now it’s just crawling with undead, and the land is rotting away in places. Not very pleasant. These guys right here, though.” Ron brightly lit a small jut of land beneath Silverpine Forest. “That’s the Kingdom of Gilneas. Stormwind, Lordaeron, and Gilneas were the original Alliance. After Lordaeron was overrun, the smarmy bastards built a wall and backed out of the pact. Bloody cowards, if you ask me.” He frowned at the map for a long moment. Finally, he tossed a careless gesture as the remaining northern bit of the continent lit up sloppily. “Oh, right, and then there’s some stuck up knife-ears that live over there. Any questions?”

“Yes, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, rising from her seat. “The students will be arriving in the Great Hall in less than 30 minutes. Who on earth is going to clean up this ice?!”

Ron looked over his ice wall that blocked the head table off entirely from view of the rest of the hall. “Er…” he shuffled awkwardly as he stalled for time, looking at his creation this way and that. “Isn’t old Filch still around? Best set him to something useful rather than spying on students, I reckon.”

Bethany shot her husband a look. “Honestly, you should be able to take down something so simple. Here, I’ll take care of it.” Ron automatically stepped to the side, used to taking Betty’s orders. She raised her hands and took a deep breath, an aura of pure power swirling around her. By the time Ron had realized the danger of what was happening, it was too late; she opened her eyes and a wave of something rippled through the room.

“Betty, wait--!”

The ice wall disappeared, and for a moment the room felt decidedly ordinary. The ceiling, which had been reflecting the partially cloudy weather, flickered out, leaving only the stone in view. McGonagall gasped, but as the pressure of Bethany’s power faded, the sky came back into view. However, the many floating candles that had lined the ceiling clattered to the floor, breaking the deafening silence as the group tried to process what had just happened.

Bethany covered her mouth delicately, looking at the candles she had accidentally knocked down. She turned to the head table. “Uh, sorry… I, er, didn’t realize…” She shifted her hand to her head, a bit unsteady on her feet. Ron was immediately by her side, pressing his flask into her hand.

“Here, Betty, it’s honeymint tea,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Drink up. I had forgotten to warn you that there’s less magic here… probably best if you keep from any more spells, love.”

_ “Mr. Weasley! _ Might you care to enlighten us all on what we just witnessed!?” McGonagall’s voice was pitched and tight as she stood from her chair. She immediately clasped her hands before her, but it didn’t quite quell the shaking.

Ron rubbed his wife’s shoulder as she drank to replenish the mana she had just expended. “It was a Dispel. Probably no need for one that big, but if  _ someone _ hadn’t been hounding her about not being magical, she might not’ve done it.” His glare bored into Molly, who sat stunned, her mouth agape, as she looked between the ceiling and the empty spot on the floor where the ice wall had been. “Like I’ve been saying the whole time, Azeroth is magical. Much more magical than this shithole. Betty didn’t know the enchantments would be blown away if she farted on them.”

Dumbledore stood from his seat, silencing whatever his Transfiguration professor was going to say next. The others were quiet as he calmly strode down to the students’ dining area and picked up a fallen candle. He turned it this way and that, examining it.

“Most curious,” he finally declared, his blue eyes twinkling with wonder, a small smile just visible in the shift of his beard. “Mrs. Weasley,” he began, turning to Bethany, “did you know that these enchantments were placed over 1000 years ago by some of the greatest magical minds to exist in our world?”

“Er… No, sir. Frankly, I-- I didn’t realize the ceiling was enchanted. I… thought it was open,” she admitted with a blush.

“I see. Well, I feel I should mention that in those 1000 years, no one has been able to remove or alter the enchantments in this room. I find it most impressive, indeed.”

“Uh… Th-thank you..?” Bethany nervously passed Ron his now-empty flask back, feeling both thoroughly chastised and praised all at once.

“Of course, my dear. Now, I suppose we’ll have to do something about the lighting in here until we can find a more permanent solution…” Dumbledore pulled a long wand from his sleeve, surveying the ceiling. Making quick, swishy flourishes with his wand, he conjured brilliant balls of blue flame, sending them across the ceiling in much the same manner the candles had been. In the daylight, they were not terribly impressive, but one could imagine the light they would emit in the dark of night. Making ushering loops with his wand, he called the fallen candles to him. He held open a small satchel at his waist, and the wax pieces eagerly flew inside at his behest. “There. Nice and tidy. Minerva, why don’t you check the tables to see what other enchantments may have been disrupted. We wouldn’t want our students missing lunch, after all.” He let out an amicable sigh. “Alas, there is work I must do, but I daresay it would be a nice time for the rest of you to enjoy a nice, head-clearing walk through the school grounds. Don’t you, Arthur?”

“...Molly, dear, she would be so useful in my Department--” Arthur was cut off as Molly thwacked his arm, nodding towards the Headmaster. “What? Oh, er, yes! Of course!” It was obvious to everyone else that Mr. Weasley had no idea what he had just agreed to, distracted as he was by the possibilities of his work.

“Excellent! Shall we, then?”

Percy dabbed his mouth quickly and stood, taking a moment to straighten his clothes before striding across to stand beside Dumbledore. Molly dragged her husband up, hissing in his ear the part of the conversation he had missed. Fred and George stood as well, casually heading for the door with the rest.

“And just where do you think you two are going?” McGonagall’s voice cracked like a whip. The pair stood frozen in their tracks.

“Oh, you know. Just catching up with the family,” George said jovially.

“Yeah, just like the Professor said. A nice, head-clearing walk outside!”

“Oh, no you do not. Back to class! You two have missed quite enough schooling for one day, I should think.” McGonagall’s tone was absolute, but Fred piped up.

“But it’s lunch next, and we’ve already eaten. Don’t you think that’s a bit redundant?”

“Well, then how about a study session to catch up on the classes you missed today? That sounds far more productive.”

“But Professor--” George was quickly shut down.

“Study hall. I want to see books and quills out! I would prefer not to have to deduct points from my own house.”

Disgruntled, the twins shared a look and returned to the spot at the Gryffindor table where they had tossed their school things initially. In unison, they retrieved their Transfiguration text books, some parchment, quills, and ink, and looked up at McGonagall. “Happy now?” they chimed cheekily.

McGonagall, to her credit, merely pursed her lips; she suspected they were up to something, but hadn’t the slightest idea what. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and she couldn’t punish them, so she was rather stuck. Suspicious, she set her eyes on each twin. “Best behavior.  _ Both _ of you.” And off she walked.

Dumbledore and the rest of the Weasleys had already exited the Great Hall and parted ways. Once outside, Percy asked if they might fancy a stroll to Hagrid’s hut, but Ron protested, saying Betty shouldn’t be walking that far. They settled on a short trip just down the main walk to a place they could see the lake from.

As soon as they broke away from the entrance, Arthur spoke up. “That really was an impressive bit of magic. But when you come to stay with us, please don’t use anything like that. I don’t think the Burrow could take it.”

“Stay--? Dad, we can’t stay.” Mr. Weasley frowned, but nodded; it made sense.

_ “What?! _ But you’ve only just arrived!” Mrs. Weasley was less understanding. Ron scoffed.

“No offense, Mum, but I don’t think Betty would feel very welcome in the Burrow. Besides that, we need to restock on mage water. Betty goes through her mana faster with the baby, now, so I don’t think it’s a good idea to stick around.” He put his arm around her shoulders once more.

“I don’t know, Ron… I’d like to get to know your family better,” she said quietly. Ron shot her a look which she returned in kind.

“Well, we can’t stay if we don’t have a good mana supply either way. We have to go back.”

“At least for a little bit,” Bethany corrected. “If we have enough food and water to keep up supplied, it’ll be fine.”

“But what about the baby? Don’t want anything bad to happen to the baby,” Ron added.

Bethany frowned at him, resting a hand over her belly. “The baby is  _ fine. _ Trust a woman’s intuition for once.”

Frazzled, Ron threw his hands up. “FINE. We’ll stay,  _ AFTER _ we’ve resupplied and taken care of everything in Stormwind. Happy?!”

“Yes,” came the replies from both Mrs. Weasleys. Molly didn’t seem very pleased with this and shot Bethany a look which went thoroughly ignored.

“Er, son… Would it be too much to ask to, er…” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Hermione’s taken her mother to see, so…”

Ron’s pace slowed; he knew what his father was asking, but he was unsure how he felt about it. “You want to see Azeroth, Dad?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” The man shrugged, his hands tucked in his pockets. Ron’s mouth twisted; that meant he really wanted to go.

“I dunno--”

“Oh, what’s the harm, Ron? Just for a little while.” Bethany rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, and Ron could already feel that he wasn’t going to get his way. “We can even meet up with Harry and Hermione, take them on a quick jaunt to Dalaran. You know.” Ron looked up quickly. He caught the glint in his wife’s eye and understood immediately. He grinned, sensing her deviousness in taking his family to the most magical city on Azeroth.

“You know what? Sure. Sounds like a plan. Take the whole big fucking happy Weasley family to Dalaran! Yep. Perfect.” They arrived at the overlook, and Ron stood with a proud arm around Bethany as she took in the scenery. Sometimes it wasn’t so bad to be a Weasley.


End file.
